A Change of Plans
by KnightMara
Summary: Shortly after the Battle of Yavin, Han Solo finds that it is more difficult to leave the Rebellion than he thought.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own any of these characters. George Lucas does.  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 1  
  
  
Seated on the edge of one of the two small beds that occupied the dank, stale cubicle the hotel called a room, Han was growing impatient. He stared blankly at the dirty walls, wondering what could be taking Luke so long. The kid had said he was supposed to meet some rebel friend of his to pick up a datacard that was to be delivered back to Alliance headquarters. Han hoped the kid was capable enough to do this without any problems, but he definitely would have felt better if he'd been allowed to go along. After all, Luke was only two months off the farm, and, although a pretty fair fighter, not the most experienced rebel agent. The kid had been edgy, however, insisting that her Worship wanted him to accomplish this mission alone to avoid any unwanted attention to their presence here. He even went so far as to say that Han was merely here as hired transport, a comment which had angered Solo more than he'd let on, and, worse, had been a totally unexpected barb from Luke. Come to think of it, the kid hadn't been acting like himself at all. Not that Han could claim that he knew him all that well. However, he was convinced that something was bothering the kid. He was just completely baffled as to what.   
  
Right now, however, none of that mattered. All that did matter was that the kid got back soon so they could leave this sorry excuse for a night's lodging and get back to the Falcon. Even as he lamented the cramped, dingy quarters they'd chosen because of it's "cash-only, no questions asked" reputation, he couldn't help but laugh inwardly at his own changed perspective. How many months ago had it been since he'd stayed in a dive like this out of necessity without batting an eye? How could his estimation of such places have changed so drastically in just a few months with the Alliance and their new quarters on the small moon of Krall?   
  
Shaking his head, he hardened his resolve to quit his association with these rebels as soon as possible before he really became the changed man her Highness was constantly joking about. It wasn't like he'd really developed any feelings for these people. He'd only stuck around because they had continued to pay him for his services, and he was hoping to save up enough to pay back his debts. Besides, it would be a shame to see them all vaped so soon after the victory at Yavin. A victory for which he was still getting praise and recognition. Hero-worship did not sit well on Han Solo, which was another reason for his desire to leave the Rebellion. Luke especially seemed idolize him, even though Han couldn't imagine why. The kid had skills that were absolutely amazing in one so young an inexperienced. He was as green as a dewback's hide, however, and that probably explained his frequent attempts at emulating Han's poise and attitude. Usually, the kid failed, with hilarious results. Sometimes, though, he made even a skilled Sabaac player like Han proud with his coolness and lack of readability.   
  
He hoped the kid was employing his Sabaac face now.  
  
Rising from the bed to shake off his unexpected and unexplained worry, Han paced the small floor. That settled it: as soon as he dropped the kid back off at the base, he and Chewie were saying "Goodbye." He wasn't going to get sucked into this any deeper than he'd already managed to get. He walked over to the small 'fresher unit, and filled a mostly clean glass with water. Wishing it was rum instead, he swallowed it quickly just as he heard the door of the room slide open behind him.  
  
He turned around to see Luke walk in and sit tiredly on the edge of the opposite bed.  
  
"Mission accomplished?" Han asked after a few moments during which the kid said nothing.  
  
Luke nodded, removing a datacard from the inside pocket of his jacket and tossing it onto Han's bed without a word.   
  
Feeling his concern rise at Luke's lack of verbal communication, Han pressed, "Did everything go smoothly?"  
  
Again, Luke nodded without speaking.  
  
"No problems?"  
  
This time, Luke looked up sharply. "Why, do you have a problem?" The edge in his tone was severe and unwarranted. It was also tempered with a slight tremor, one that did not escape Han's notice.  
  
Sharpening his own tone, Solo replied, "Just making sure things went okay."  
"You wanna ' wipe my nose, too?" Luke retorted, rising from the bed and heading toward the 'fresher.  
  
At a loss for words at Luke's uncharacteristic behavior, Han only watched silently as Luke filled a second glass with water and sipped at it with his back turned. Finding his voice, Han snapped, "No, not really. But I do want to know what the hell is bothering you enough to make you act like a jerk!"  
  
"Nothing!" came the hot reply from the young man whose back was still turned.   
  
Han was beginning to get annoyed at the kid's irritating behavior. "Sure, and I'm the Emperor," he remarked sarcastically. "Now tell me what's wrong kid before I really start to get angry."  
  
Luke spun, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. "I already told you! There's nothing wrong! Just get off my back!"  
  
Well, at least the kid was looking at him now. That was an improvement to the silent treatment and the earlier view of his back. Only now that Han was facing him, it was very clear that there was something definitely wrong. Luke's eyes were too bright, and his cheeks too red. If anything, the kid looked feverish.  
  
"You feelin' all right, kid?"   
  
This time it was Luke's turn to look surprised. "Yeah," he answered. Han watched as his expression softened and he looked down at the floor. "Just a headache is all," he added.  
  
Han relaxed a bit. He was always a bit grouchy himself when he had a headache. Nearly got into a fistfight with a dug on one of those days. He could begin to understand the kid's behavior. "Bad one?"  
  
Luke nodded and crossed to his bed again, sipping the water he held in his hand. "I've had it all day. And it's just been getting worse and worse."  
  
Nodding in mild sympathy, Han walked into the 'fresher and grabbed a washcloth. He ran it under the cold water for a moment before wringing it out and tossing it to Luke. Luke stared at him blankly.  
  
"Lay on your back, and put that over your eyes," Han explained. "That's what usually works for me."  
  
Laughing weakly, Luke smiled at him and joked, "Thanks, Doctor Solo."  
  
"Don't mock me, Junior," replied Han with feigned seriousness. "Just see if that doesn't help in fifteen minutes or so." Glancing down at his chrono, Han noted that it was nearly dinnertime. Having gone without food while waiting for Luke for much of the day, he was actually rather hungry. Figuring he'd give Luke some time to try to ease out of his headache before heading back to the Falcon, Han decided to scout around to find something decent to eat. The last thing he wanted to do was play nursemaid to a rebel. "I'll be back shortly with food, and then we'll get outta here. Okay, kid?"  
  
Luke was already lying back on the bed with the washcloth over his eyes. "Sure," he mumbled.  
  
Checking his pockets to make sure he had enough cash credits, Han slipped out the door in search of a restaurant or cafŽ. He was in the mood for Corellian, but he wasn't sure what kind of offerings they'd have in a Corellian restaurant here on Ryall. The planet was so remote he doubted they'd have much in the way of good cuisine. Most of the people he passed on the street didn't seem to be the type to care either way. Eventually, he settled on a not-too-terrible looking establishment called The Outer Rim. Their specialty seemed to be Tatooine cuisine, something Han had never realized existed until this moment. He quickly ordered two combination meals which included various meats, a strange noodle dish, and a side of a pudding with a strange bluish hue. Luke would probably be able to tell him what everything was, and he'd probably also be relatively pleased with the meal since it was supposedly from his homeworld. Realizing he had unexpectedly taken pity on the kid, he pushed the unfamiliar sentiments aside and headed back to their room with the food.  
  
Opening the door to the room, Han noticed that Luke was still lying on the bed, apparently asleep. Setting the food down on the small table that occupied the space against the wall between the two beds, Han figured that he should wake him, even though he felt badly about it. After all, the kid had to eat. And Han certainly didn't want to spend any more time on this forsaken planet than they absolutely had to.  
  
"Luke," he called toward the sleeping form. "Food's here."  
  
The response he got was something akin to a low moan as Luke rolled away from Han and onto his side, curling up into a fetal position as he did so.  
  
Han rose and crossed over to the kid, annoyed. "Yeah, well you can sleep on the Falcon. But she ain't stocked with food, so up and at 'em." He swatted the kid's legs to get him to stir.  
  
This time, Luke's reaction was a violent shiver, and he drew his knees closer to his chest.  
  
Something was very wrong, and Han's annoyance vanished. Now, he was worried. He knelt by the kid's side and did a quick assessment. Luke's face was flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat. His hair was damp and matted, and his breathing seemed irregular and labored. Reaching out a tentative hand, Han touched his forehead and was not surprised to find it alarmingly hot. He shook his head. "Luke, kid, don't do this to me." Not now. Not when they needed to get back to the Alliance and get off this stupid planet. Not when the kid was wanted for the destruction of the Empire's precious space station.   
  
Not when the only thing standing between himself and his farewell to this stupid war was the final leg of this mission.   
  
"Talk about your bad timing." He gently patted Luke's face, hoping that the young rebel wasn't delirious. "Come on, Luke. Wake up and look at me."  
  
"Hmmmfph?" Luke grunted and blinked his eyes. Glassy and unfocused with fever, they stared at nothing.  
  
"Luke, kid, I know you're feeling really crummy right about now, but do you think you can make it to the Falcon?" The last thing Han wanted was to be stuck planetside with a sick rebel who had an even higher price on his head then he did. Medical treatment wouldn't even be an option in that case, and if Luke was really sick, that might be a serious problem. "Luke, answer me. Can you get to the Falcon on your own?"  
  
"Falcon?" The whispered response was barely audible, but it was enough to encourage Han.  
  
"Yeah, kid, the Falcon. Do you think you can get up and walk with me?" He waited expectantly for an answer.  
  
Luke shut his eyes once more, and groaned. "Hurts . . ."  
  
Han rubbed his eyes in frustration. "I know it hurts, Luke. But we've got to get out of here." He was beginning to get the sinking feeling that they were, in fact, stuck in this very cubicle he'd been so anxious to leave only twenty minutes earlier. He was still going to try, though. "Come on, kid. Help me out, here."  
  
To Han's relief, Luke's eyes blinked open once again, and this time they focused on him. "Help."  
  
Han wasn't sure if Luke was merely repeating Han's request or making one of his own, but he hoped it was the latter. Slipping an arm under the young man's neck, he eased him into a sitting position. Although he leaned heavily against Han's arm, Luke did not resist. Han only hoped the kid could stand. Chewie was waiting at the Falcon, but Han dared not contact his co-pilot out of concern that a Wookie would definitely draw attention to them. And Han certainly wouldn't be able to carry Luke the entire way back to the ship. "Do you think you can walk?"  
  
Weakly, Luke nodded. Han was surprised when the kid pushed away from him and struggled to stand up on his own. He swayed dizzily on his feet, and Han threw an arm around him for support.  
  
"Come on, kid. Let's get you out of here." Han glanced around the small room to see if there was anything personal of theirs laying about. The only thing he noted was the small bag Luke had brought with him, and Han's own slight pack. He reached down to snatch up both and took one last look around. Nothing caught his attention, so he headed toward the door with Luke.   
  
Once outside the room, Han double-checked his pockets and his pack. Then a thought jumped out at him.  
  
"Luke, where's the datacard?"  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"The datacard, Luke. Where is it?" Han pressed. "You know, the one we came all the way out here for? Do you have it?"  
  
Luke shook his head. "In the room," he whispered. "Somewhere."  
  
In true Corellian fashion, Han ran through this list of choice curses before propping Luke up against the outside wall and palming the door open once again. "Stay here."  
  
He dashed into the room and scrambled around, looking for the card. A part of his brain wondered why finding the damn thing was so important, but it didn't slow him down in his search. The card wasn't on the floor, it wasn't on the table with the food that Han had purchased, and it wasn't by the 'fresher. Grabbing the two uneaten meals, he took one last look around the room, but he still did not see it. Maybe Luke had put it in his bag or in his pocket, but didn't remember. He'd have to check. Grimacing, he realized that wasn't going to be fun with Luke in his current state. Heading back to the door, he paused suddenly.  
  
He spun around and stared at his bed. There it was, sitting right in the center, blending in perfectly with the mottled blanket that covered the cheap mattress. Breathing a sigh of relief, he snatched the card and shoved it into his vest pocket before heading out the door.  
  
There he found Luke sitting on the ground against the wall looking miserable. Han reached down to pull him up, noting the totally confused look in the kid's eyes.  
  
"What's wrong with me?" the young rebel asked. At least he seemed more awake.  
  
"You're sick, that's what's wrong," the Corellian replied with a disbelieving groan as he hauled him back onto his feet. Hadn't the kid ever been sick before?  
  
His answer came quickly. "Never get sick," the kid moaned.  
  
Han shook his head. This was going to be a real pain--that was for sure. "Well, you're sick now. So let's get you back to that base of yours so you can get treated." Noting the heat that seemed to radiate off the kid's body, he realized he was going to have the make that trip a fast one. Whatever Luke had managed to catch, it didn't look good. The young man's head lolled to the side as Han supported him under the arms and steered him toward the ship.   
  
It could be worse, he noted. At least he was walking.  
  
Of course, the journey to the ship was an excruciatingly slow one, and Han's arm ached with fatigue from trying to support Luke's increasingly heavy form. The kid was growing weaker by the moment, and Han found himself nearly dragging him along by the time they reached the port. Focused on getting them to the Falcon as quickly as possible, Han barely noticed when Luke suddenly stiffened.  
  
"We're being followed," the kid whispered hoarsely, gripping Han's arm.  
  
Taken by surprise, Han glanced curiously at his companion before quickening his pace while continuing to look casual. The kid still looked feverish, but there was an eerie sense of clarity in his eyes. "You sure?" he ventured to whisper back with a sidelong glance.  
  
Luke brought his hand to his mouth and coughed, masking his affirmative nod. "Two of them. Tall guy in a black jacket, and a lizardy thing in a neutral flight-suit."  
  
Acting quickly, Han forced Luke to stumble. "You okay, kid?" Han asked loudly, shifting to thump Luke's back and taking a quick survey. He quickly spotted the two that the kid had described. The human was a total stranger, and looked like a mere hired thug. The reptilian Trandoshan, on the other hand, looked vaguely familiar. Even though he couldn't place him at the moment, his mind screamed, "Bounty hunter."  
  
"Thought so," Luke replied to Han's muttered appraisal. "Any ideas?"  
  
Momentarily caught off guard, the smuggler frantically searched his mind for a plan. "Not unless you think you're up to whipping out that laser sword of yours. But from the looks of you, kid, I don't think that's such a wise idea. Better try to lose ourselves in the crowd."  
  
Luke grinned weakly. "And I thought you said you preferred straight fighting to sneaking around."  
  
Han favored him with a wry smirk. "Don't make me leave you here, kid."  
  
"And miss having me around?"  
  
Han shook his head, resisting the urge to laugh good-naturedly at Luke's remark. The kid must be delirious if he thought that Han actually enjoyed his company. Obligated to save his hide was more like it. Although Han had to admit that he appreciated a guy who could maintain a sense of humor even in the toughest of situations. Sick as he was, Luke was definitely keeping his chin up.  
  
Han was suddenly startled by Luke's sideways shove. "Huh?"  
  
Luke continued to push Han toward an alleyway, "Trust me," he whispered. "I've got an idea."  
  
"Luke, I'm not so sure," Han began, but Luke cut him off.  
  
"We're not going to lose them," the kid explained hastily. "So we're gonna have to face them."  
  
Han glanced about warily as they headed into the alley. "Somehow I didn't think that direct confrontation was your style, kid," he muttered as they moved.  
  
The kid shrugged his shoulders weakly. "Picking it up from you, I guess."  
  
"Or the fever's making you stupid," Han countered.  
  
"Freeze," hissed a voice from behind, silencing any further conversation between the two.  
  
Han grimaced and turned around slowly, continuing to support Luke the whole time. Two blasters were trained on them, held by the two bounty hunters he and Luke had identified before. "Something the matter, gentlemen?" Han drawled.  
  
The Trandoshan hissed once more, "Yesss, it would ssseem that you have your handsss on my bounty."  
  
Han gave his best innocent look. "Bounty?" He pointed at Luke, who was leaning more heavily against his shoulder than he was before. Biting back the panic that crept into his mind at the thought that the kid might have deliriously led them to their deaths without a real plan, Han continued, "You mean, this guy?"  
  
"Don't play ssstupid with me," the bounty hunter sneered. "I don't like--"  
  
Han never found out what he didn't like. At that very moment, Luke righted himself and his blue lightsaber flashed to life. The two bounty hunters, momentarily stunned by the unexpected maneuver, stood in shocked silence. Knowing they would recover quickly, Luke used the opportunity to push Han out of the way before the bounty hunters began to open fire. With a swiftness that Han would never have believed had he not been there, Luke used the energy blade to deflect the bolts back toward the two attackers. Before they had realized their mistake, the two assailants crumpled to the ground under a barrage of their own gunfire.  
  
Han blinked his eyes in disbelief at the smoking remains of the two bounty hunters before turning his gaze to Luke. "That was impressive," he stammered. "Didn't see you do anything like that on the Falcon that one time."  
  
"Like you said, good against remotes is one thing," Luke replied weakly, his voice drifting off. The young man stood pale and sweating, blade humming ominously in his hand even as he swayed on his feet.   
  
As Han slowly stood, he watched with still-numbed senses as Luke deactivated the saber a split second before he, too, collapsed to the floor in a heap. Han's first panicked reaction was that Luke had not managed to deflect all of the bolts. He rushed to his companion's side and lifted him from the damp alley floor, quickly assessing for blaster wounds. To his relief, there were none, but the kid was even more feverish than he'd been before the attack. His skin was burning hot to the touch, and his body shivered in the humid air. Han swore, gently shaking him to try to bring him back to some form of consciousness. Apparently, he'd drawn too heavily on his limited strength to defend them.   
  
"Okay kid, we're not out of this yet," he murmured to the unconscious youth, "so don't quit on me now."  
  
A low groan escaped Luke's lips and brought a smile to Han's face.   
  
"That's it, kid," he coaxed. "Come on back. Whine and complain all you want to, but wake up. That's all I'm askin'."  
  
Glassy blue eyes slowly opened and fixed themselves on Han's face. A nasty cough wracked the young man's feverish body and it was a moment before he was able to speak. "Wasn't the best plan, was it?" Luke managed, barely audible.  
  
Han shook his head with a wry smile. "Not one of my favorites, no." He struggled to pull Luke into a sitting position. "But it got the job done."  
  
Luke laughed weakly at that, but said nothing. He looked as though he were about to faint once again.  
  
"You ready to get out of here?" Han pressed, keeping the young rebel alert.   
  
The kid nodded his head slightly, and Han pulled him up to his feet. Luke all but collapsed against his shoulder as Han fought to support him, but he somehow managed to keep his feet under him, for which Han was more than grateful. At a painstakingly slow pace, they made it out of the alley and onto the main thoroughfare before Han paused to make sure there were no more obstacles to face between themselves and the Falcon.   
  
"You're not picking up any others following us, are ya', kid?" he asked, partly out of a need to keep the young man talking and partly out of genuine curiosity. When Luke didn't immediately respond, Han repeated, "Are you?"  
  
Luke silently shook his head, swallowing deeply and, as it looked to Han, painfully. "No," he croaked. A one-word, one-syllable response, and the kid sounded terrible.  
  
Han forced a cheerfulness into his voice that he didn't feel. "Good. Then we'll just head on over to the Falcon and blast off this rock. The sooner we can get out of here, the sooner we can get you to a medcenter."  
  
To Han's amusement, Luke argued, "I don't need a medcenter." His voice was beginning to sound like he was gargling gravel, yet the fact that he was contesting the issue bolstered Han's feelings toward the situation.  
  
"Oh no?" Han countered, steering them toward the docking bays. "Could've fooled me, Junior."  
  
"I told you," the kid continued, coughing as he struggled with an uncooperative voice, "I don't get sick."  
  
"Then what are you?"  
  
Han glanced at his companion who seemed to be trying to come up with an answer and not having much success. After a few moments, Luke returned Han's stare sheepishly. "Well, maybe I am a little sick."  
  
Han shook his head, smiling. "Then I'd hate to see you a lot sick, kid."  
  
He was rewarded with a slight grin from his companion as they made it toward the Falcon's bay. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See previous chapter ( 'cause I don't wanna type it again!)  
  
Warning: Whiny Luke. . hehehe, it's a Han story at Luke's expense.  
  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 2  
  
  
"You're such a softy," Han remarked to his copilot as they finally prepared to blast off from Ryall. Upon reaching the Falcon, Chewie had immediately sensed that something was wrong with the kid, and had proceeded to treat Luke like a wounded cub. Han had laughed as Luke struggled vainly against Chewie's insistent coddling while the Wookie refused be swayed by any of his arguments. In his current state, Luke was no match for an overprotective Wookie anyway, and he finally allowed himself to be picked up and carried into the Falcon, much to Han's mirth. "You really have a thing for that kid, don't ya' pal?"  
  
Chewie growled a reply, which caused Han to bristle.  
  
"Hey, I was never that green! By the time I was his age, I'd seen more stuff than that kid'll ever see. So don't go comparing us!" Miffed, Han returned to the Falcon's controls. "Besides," he added, "the kid whines too much."  
  
Chewie's next response evoked laughter from the smuggler.   
  
"Nah, he whines even when he's not sick." Han looked up from the controls to throw a backward glance toward the cabin where he hoped the kid was sleeping peacefully. Luke had protested against resting in the medical bunk, whining about how it made him feel like an invalid when he wasn't. Then, in the midst of his argument, a horrendous cough had seized him and, weakened, he finally complied. In the last half-hour, Han had come to the solid conclusion that the kid was a lousy patient. And in the past few minutes he'd come to an even more disturbing realization: that bothered him.  
  
Pushing back the foolish notion that he could begin caring about the people he was intent on getting as far away from as possible at the earliest convenience, he focused on the task at hand. "Do we have clearance, yet?"  
  
Chewie growled an affirmative.   
  
"Good," Han remarked. "Let's leave this party."  
  
Within moments, Ryall was behind them and the coordinates for the hyperspace jump to Alliance HQ had been set. Han frowned at the ETA, but there was nothing they could do about that. He gave the signal to Chewie to make the jump, and the stars out the viewport shifted into lines as the Millennium Falcon streaked through hyperspace.   
  
Han rose from his chair and headed out of the cockpit. "I'm just gonna' let the kid know our arrival time." At Chewie's hushed comment, Han turned on his copilot with a wry grin. "No, I'm not checking up on him. That's your job, remember? One softy on this ship is enough." At that, he quickly headed aft toward the sleeping cabin.   
  
Poking his head inside, he noted that the entire cabin and both its bunks were totally empty. Han frowned at the thought of Luke meandering around the Falcon when he was so sick and so far away from a medic. Again, Han groaned at the thought of what a lousy patient the kid was turning out to be, and headed out the cabin door to find him. When a quick search of the forward hold failed to produce any sign of Luke, he continued on toward the galley. Upon entering the portside hold, a noise from the 'fresher both alerted him to the location of his quarry, as well as to his condition.  
  
"You okay in there, kid?" he asked, slowly approaching the closed 'fresher door.  
  
"Uh-huh," a weak voice, barely recognizable as Luke's, replied.  
  
Han arched an eyebrow. "You sure?" The kid certainly didn't sound okay.  
  
In reply, the door slid open and a pale and shaky Luke emerged trying desperately to remain upright. Within seconds, he lost the struggle and would have sunk to the floor had Han not reached for him at that moment.   
  
"Whoa, kid," Han exclaimed as he grabbed Luke under the arms and hauled him back up. "Let's get you back to the bunk."  
  
The kid didn't put up much of a fight this time around. For that, Han was grateful. However, Luke did continue to whine.  
  
"Why do I feel like this?" he croaked.  
  
"Because you're sick."  
  
"But why do I feel so terrible? I mean I was coughing back there and all of a sudden--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Han quickly interjected, not wanting to hear any details. By this time they'd reached the sleeping cabin, and Han eagerly dropped Luke onto the medical bunk once more. "But that's kinda' the definition of being sick. See, if you weren't feeling bad, you'd be healthy."  
  
As Luke slid under the covers, he began to cough again. It was a few moments before the coughing subsided and he was able to take a normal breath. "Shavit! I hate this!" he growled.  
  
Han smiled through his concern. "Kid, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear."  
  
"Well, I hate feeling like this," Luke remarked, pulling the covers up to his chin.  
  
"Most sick people do," Han quipped in return. "After all, if you enjoyed this, that would make you a pretty twisted person."  
  
Luke favored him with a whisper of a smile.   
  
"So," Han pressed, "you've really never been sick?"  
  
The kid shook his head. "I think I had a really bad fever when I was little . . .I kinda' remember Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen taking care of me. But that's really it."  
  
"Just a healthy kinda' guy, huh?" remarked Han with a smirk.  
  
Luke shrugged his shoulders and coughed a little. "I had enough accidents and injuries to make up for it, though."  
  
Han laughed lightly. "Clumsy or just reckless?"  
  
"A little of both, actually," Luke replied with a slight smile. Shifting further into the blankets he added, "Sorry, Han."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For being such a pain. I'm just not used to this."  
  
Han read an enormous amount of self-reproach in his companion's eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Don't worry about it," he quipped, shrugging off the odd feelings of anxiety he was experiencing. "You should see me when I'm sick."  
  
Luke gave a feeble laugh that turned into a more coughing before he remarked, "I doubt you're as bad as this."  
  
"Yeah, you're right, there," joked Han in return, still feeling an uncharacteristic worry toward the young rebel. Reaching over, he gave the kid a pat on his shoulder and added, "So shut up and get some sleep, okay?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Han turned to leave and was nearly out the door before he heard Luke's voice call out.  
  
"How long 'til we reach the base?"  
  
Slapping his hand on the door, Han turned. "I knew I was forgetting something," he said with a shake of his head. "That's what I came back here to tell you in the first place. Nine hours."  
  
"Ugh," the kid groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "Nine hours?" his muffled voice asked in disbelief.  
  
"It goes by quicker if you're asleep," Han suggested, turning to leave once more.  
  
"Easy for you to say," Luke continued into the pillow.  
  
Han regarded the young man over his shoulder for a moment before stepping out of the cabin. "If you need me, you know where to find me, kid," he called back.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Luke rasped as the door to the cabin slid shut.  
  
As Han made his way back toward the cockpit, he found himself worrying about the kid's condition and hoping he didn't get any worse in the nine hours it would take to get back. Startled at the thoughts that seemed to be forming in his consciousness without his permission, Han quickly banished them. "Chewie was right," he muttered to himself. "I am getting soft." All the more reason to cut these rebels off before he really did become attached to them. He didn't need friends. He already had a Wookie copilot he'd quickly discovered he'd never rid himself of. Besides, Chewie had proven himself time and time again to be worth having along for the ride. But a stuck-up princess and a wet-behind-the ears kid were another matter entirely. Besides, caring for others could be an occupational hazard, as he'd learned in the past. Nothing was worth going through that again. And there was no way he was going to risk it. Not on his life. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these guys, I'm just borrowing them for a while.   
  
Warning: Less whiny Luke, but Han has to deal with some graphic medical stuff, so if that makes you squeamish. . . .   
  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 3  
  
  
"Don't we have anything to eat on this bucket of bolts?" Han was angrily and noisily rummaging around in the galley for something edible besides ration bars, so he barely heard Chewie's reply.  
  
"I threw it in the garbage," the smuggler growled back to his first mate's suggestion that he eat the food he'd picked up on Ryall. "It was starting to smell funny, and--let's face it. The pudding was BLUE!"  
  
The Wookie started to laugh at Han's predicament and his obvious chagrin, and Han, in return, threw his darkest glare back at him. Frustrated, hungry, and undeniably cranky, he finally snatched a ration bar out of the storage unit and unwillingly began to eat it.  
  
"These things have the taste and consistency of dried mud, you know that?" he bellowed.  
  
In response, Chewie playfully smacked Han across the back of the head and reprimanded him on several points.  
  
Han countered, "I am not cranky, and I am not going to wake the kid up! Believe me, I wouldn't want to! The past four hours have been quiet and peaceful."  
  
Chewie laughed sarcastically.  
  
"Look, pal, while you were napping here in the Falcon, I was dodging bounty hunters! I'm now hungry and tired, so allow me the minor luxury of venting on my own ship, will ya'?" To punctuate his words, he took a violent bite out of his ration bar, struggling not to grimace at its awfulness as he stormed away toward the cockpit.  
  
Falling into the pilot's seat, he blew out all his frustrations in a loud huff. As he did so, a slow satisfied grin crossed his face. Blowing up like that had felt good. It was more like the Han Solo he knew. Not this overly concerned rebel assistant he'd become in the last two months. For the past four hours, he'd been alone with Chewie as the Falcon traveled through hyperspace, and he'd enjoyed it. They'd argued, played a game of holochess, and performed a few minor repairs, just like they always did on hyperspace trips. And as the hours ticked by, Han had begun to disassociate himself from the young rebel who occupied the medical bunk. The kid was just a charter for which he'd be paid when the Falcon reached its destination. That was all. End of story. He'd get paid, and then he'd kiss the rebellion and her worshipfulness goodbye.  
  
Han swallowed. That last thought had been strangely unsettling. An image of himself kissing the princess unexpectedly formed in his mind, and the effect it had on him was unnerving. He shook his head. He hated that woman! That girl, really! She was barely out of childhood, and yet she had the nerve to boss him around and insult him at every turn. To make matters worse, she was good at it. That princess had a sharp head on her shoulders, that was undeniable. And she had a lot of spirit and determination; he had to give her that. She commanded attention, and she always got it, even from him. She wasn't bad to look at either.  
  
He shook his head again to clear it of the unexpected turn his thoughts had taken. The last person he wanted to be thinking about was the princess. That was certain. She was too young, too idealistic, and too committed to a cause for his tastes. She'd suckered him into too many runs with the Rebellion, and he'd grown to resent it. After all, his ship was already marked because of the events surrounding the Death Star's destruction. He didn't need to draw any more of the Empire's attention toward the Falcon than it had already received. If he could change the past, he would. But since that was impossible, it was time to focus on the future and distancing himself from the Rebellion. If he didn't, paying off Jabba was going to be next to impossible. No one would hire a guy whose ship was on the Empire's most wanted list. He needed his anonymity. It was time to start seeking it.   
  
Satisfied with his resolve, he rose from his chair and moved toward the maintenance hatch where Chewie was busily working on the power couplings for the shield generators. He'd noticed a fluctuation on the way to Ryall, and it was imperative that the shields were in full working order before they ran into any kind of trouble.  
  
"Need a hand?" Han asked as he approached the Wookie who was in the middle of fusing to ends of a coil together.   
  
For a split second, Chewie looked up at Han's inquiry. That was all it took for the welder to slip in the Wookie's hand and for Han's senses to be assaulted by the sound of Chewie's pain-filled howl and the stench of burnt Wookie hair. The welder fell to the floor with a clatter as Chewie clutched his singed fingers.  
"Chewie!" Han cried. "How bad is it?"  
  
At his first mate's agonized response, Han quickly headed aft.  
  
"I'm grabbing the medkit, Chewie," he hollered as he ran. "Just hang on." He palmed open the door to the sleeping cabin and moved as quietly as he could while still being quick about it. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake Luke up and listen to his whining again, but he needed the medkit, which was stored right above the kid's bunk. Carefully grabbing the case, he slipped back out of the cabin and ran back to Chewie.  
  
"Burn salve and a bandage, right?" Han asked as he reached his copilot.   
  
Chewie nodded, and Han smiled. This wasn't the first time Chewie had received such a burn, and it was not likely to be the last. In fact, Han had administered this treatment no less than four times in the past. Of course, other sentient beings would likely demand a painkiller and some synthflesh if faced with the same injury, but Chewie wouldn't have it. And Han had learned long ago not to question or challenge a Wookie.   
  
It did not take long for Han to administer first aid, even though it made him grimace to do so. The burn was not as bad as some others had been, but it still wasn't pleasant to deal with. As soon as he was finished, he packed up the medkit and looked over his handiwork.  
  
"You gonna be able to operate the controls with that bandage like that?" he teased.  
  
Chewie growled a response that was somewhat less than pleasant, and Han laughed.  
  
"Is that any way to talk to your doctor?"   
  
In reply, Chewie grumbled something under his breath that Han didn't quite catch before heading toward the cockpit. Han watched him leave with a smirk, and then stared at the medkit.   
  
Did he want to put it back now? Or should he wait a while before re-entering the sleeping cabin and not risk waking a sick Luke Skywalker? It took him a while to decide, but in the end he chose to go ahead and put it back. After all, the kid hadn't awakened when he retrieved it, so he wasn't all that likely to wake up now.  
  
He crept back into the cabin and silently placed the medkit back in its place above the bunk. Satisfied that he'd managed to be a silent as was humanly possible, he risked a glance at Luke just to make sure the kid hadn't stirred.  
  
He immediately wished he hadn't. With a concerned frown, he leaned forward to get a closer look at what he hoped he wasn't seeing. Luke's face was clearly that of a dangerously feverish person. Crimson cheeks contrasted sharply with bloodless lips and darkened eyelids. His blonde hair was soaked with perspiration and plastered to his damp skin, and he appeared to be struggling for air through his pale and parted lips. Han felt his own pulse involuntarily begin to race as he moved his hand to touch the sweat-soaked forehead of the young man. In doing so, his suspicions were confirmed. The kid was burning up.  
  
Reaching for the medkit once again, Han murmured, "What the hell did you manage to catch, kid?"  
  
Knowing he wasn't likely to know the answer to that question until they reached the base in five hours, and desperately hoping that whatever it was wasn't contagious, Han began to search through the kit for anything that might bring the fever down. After all, what more could he do?  
  
Nothing, he realized with regret.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Han stretched his stiff, cramped legs and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Noting the stiffness that also resided in his shoulders and back, he grimaced. He'd been sitting on this crate for far too long with too little change in his "patient's" condition. For three hours he'd sat at Luke's bedside placing cold compresses against the kid's skin, trying in vain to bring down the fever that gripped him. In those three hours, Luke had not so much as opened an eye or voiced one word of complaint. Instead he remained sweat-soaked, flush-faced, and as utterly unconscious as he'd been when Han had first discovered him this way. The search through the medkit had produced a single fever-reducing tablet that was a year past its expiration date and nearly ineffective. Han had managed to coax the tablet down the kid's throat, but three hours later, he had yet to see any results.   
  
Rising to his feet in frustration, he headed toward the galley for a drink. Once again, he'd have preferred something alcoholic, but water would have to do. There was nothing else on board, since her Highnessness had so graciously raided the Falcon's stores for the Rebellion's post-Yavin celebration. Sipping water instead of rum for the second time that day, Han noted how good it felt to be standing. That thought immediately prompted him to question why he had remained sitting for three hours straight in the first place. After all, he was hardly the caretaker type. While searching his time-numbed brain for an answer, Chewie entered.  
  
"No, there's no change," Han remarked before the Wookie could even ask. "If anything, I'd say he's getting worse."  
  
At Chewie's concerned growl, Han grimaced.  
  
"Yeah, I know we have two hours left, pal," he answered, putting as much of a nonchalant attitude into his voice as he could. "But what else can I do? Just keep him from dyin' 'til we can get to the base, and hope they can treat him once we get there."  
  
In response to Han's comment, Chewie voiced yet another concern.  
  
Han nearly choked on his water. "What do you mean what-if-they-don't-let-us-land? They'd better! Her Highnessness owes me and the kid her life, for cryin' out loud! And after that shot with the Death Star, that kid is the only reason there's still a Rebellion left to carry on this fight. Contagion or no contagion, we're landing this thing!" He took a final gulp of water, and slammed the container down on the galley counter. "Besides," he added, "I'm not sick yet. And neither are you. That oughta' count for somethin'."  
  
Chewie, although he said nothing, gave Han a look that spoke volumes.  
  
Unfortunately, it only served to get the already irritated smuggler only more annoyed. "Don't even start thinking that I care about this kid, or the Rebellion. I'm just looking to get paid so I can get back into Jabba's good graces. And I can't do that if I'm in orbit around a planet 'cause they won't let me land, now can I?"  
  
The Wookie continued to look skeptical.  
  
"What?" Han exclaimed in exasperation. "You want me to say that I'm worried? Well, I am! I ain't cold, pal. I don't wanna see a kid his age sufferin' from who knows what! Especially not after what he's already been through. He doesn't deserve it." He narrowed his eyes at his partner. "But does it change anything? No. I already said, I ain't in this little revolution of theirs. And I'm not goin' to be. So don't go thinkin' that just because I'm showin' a little bit of concern for this kid that I'm gonna up and join their little war. True, I got no love for the Empire, but I don't want them breathin' down my neck either."  
  
At that, Chewie bristled and roared angrily. Even one who didn't know how to decipher Wookie would be hard pressed not to get the gist of Chewie's reply. And it was one that Han didn't want to hear.  
  
"So then you join the Rebellion, why don't ya!" Han yelled before storming out of the galley. Chewie's hatred of the Empire was certainly well warranted and understandable. But the last thing Han wanted was to be dragged into an all-out war. That would be very bad for his particular line of business. Chewie knew this. But that didn't stop him from making his own particular opinions known at every chance, much to Han's annoyance.  
  
Not knowing what else to do or where to go, he headed back toward the cabin. As boring and unproductive as it was, tending to a sick Rebel would have to be a lot less irritating then having to deal with an irate Wookie first-mate.   
  
Han stepped into the cabin, half-expecting to see Luke in exactly the state in which he'd been left, and half-hoping to see some improvement. He hadn't counted on a panicky, blue-eyed stare coming from a face that was gasping for air.  
  
"Can't breathe," choked the rebel through dry, blue lips. Indeed, a horrible whistling sound filled the cabin as he struggled to take a breath. "Han, please!" he gasped desperately.  
  
Han forced himself to be calm and take action. "Chewie, get in here!" he hollered as he crossed to the kid's bedside and tried to assess the situation. Luke was sweating profusely, and his fever was still up. Although he was now partially alert, his eyes were still glazed and focused solely on Han as he fought to breathe. Han felt helpless as he watched the kid's struggle, and he racked his brain for something he could do. The kid had been coughing earlier, which meant that his airways were probably congested. More than likely, the kid just needed to cough again. At least, that's what he hoped.   
  
Chewie rushed in a split second later, clearly alarmed.  
  
"Chewie, grab that basin," Han ordered, indicating the bowl he'd been using earlier for compresses, "and help me prop him up."  
  
Chewie complied swiftly, and together he and Han managed to heft the wheezing rebel into a sitting position. Grabbing the basin, Han grimaced. This was not going to be at all pleasant.  
  
"Support him, Chewie," Han said, and immediately the Wookie's arms got a firm grip on the young man who was now shivering violently and making grotesque rasping sounds. Han focused his attention on Luke. "Okay, kid, listen to me. I want you to take as deep a breath as you can."   
  
Luke fixed Han with a terrified gaze, and Han noted that his lips seemed to be an even darker shade of blue than they were earlier. The kid was suffocating.  
  
"Do it now, Luke!" Han yelled, suddenly fearful himself and trying to fight it. He had to remain calm. He didn't want this kid to die. Not on his ship. Not like this.  
  
In response, Han felt Luke's clammy hand seize his wrist as the kid squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on drawing a deep breath. Unable to look, Han glanced down at the hand that held his arm. The fingers and nails were violet. Within seconds however, Luke's effort had its desired effect. The kid doubled over the basin in a violent fit of coughing as his lungs tried to clear themselves. Chewie held on tightly, firmly supporting him as cough after cough shook his weakened frame. Han could feel Luke's hand on his wrist trembling with the effort, and unconsciously he moved his other hand to the back of Luke's head in uncharacteristic sympathy. "That's it, kid," he murmured. "You're doin' okay."  
  
Han flicked his gaze to Chewie, only to see his own concern mirrored in the Wookie's returning glance. Luke's fit seemed to last an eternity, and the smuggler was growing more and more worried as it continued. When at last the coughing stopped, the kid was left gasping for air and sagging weakly into Chewie's arms.  
  
When Han was pretty sure Luke wasn't going to start up again, he disengaged Luke's now limp grasp from his arm and offered a slight smile upon seeing the fingers flesh-colored again. "Feeling better, now?"  
  
Luke's lips, now merely a pale pink, curved upward weakly. "Thanks," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
Chewie growled a question.  
  
Han shook his head. "Better not lay him back down like that, or he might get choked up again." He glanced around the cabin for something to prop him up with, and spotted the pillow and blanket on the opposite bunk. "Hang on a second," he said, shifting the basin off of his lap and nearly gagging as he got a look at its contents. "Ugh," he groaned, placing it on the floor by the door and moving to grab the pillow.  
  
"Sorry," he heard Luke whisper behind him.  
  
Grabbing the blanket in his other hand and rolling it into a pillow-like cushion, Han shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry about it. That was just a little more personal that I usually prefer to get with my passengers."  
  
He noted the shaky smile Luke gave in response as he arranged the pillows and blankets behind him.  
  
When he was satisfied, Han nodded to Chewie. "Go ahead and ease him back down."   
  
Once the kid was lying against the pillows and they had covered him up with blankets once more, Han wiped an inexplicably shaky hand across his forehead. As annoyed as he was to find that his hand was trembling, he was even more annoyed to find his hand come away damp.   
  
"Worried, Solo?" Luke's weak voice teased.  
  
Han raised an eyebrow at him. "Who me? I'm just afraid of what her Worship will do to me if I bring back her golden boy as a corpse."  
  
"Didn't know you cared," Luke retorted, a bit more weakly than before.  
  
Han noticed it, and the kid's tired expression. Luke's pale face was blotchy from the forcefulness of his coughs, and his lids were dark and heavy. "Yeah, well quit being a wise guy and get some sleep."  
  
Luke nodded, and closed his eyes. Within moments, he sank back into a feverish sleep.   
  
Han sighed. Why did it always seem he got more than he bargained for where this kid was concerned?   
  
He looked up at Chewie. The Wookie was clearly worried about Luke's condition, and didn't seem afraid to show it. Even now, Chewie was brushing damp strands of hair away from the kid's forehead. A stab of pain shot through Han as he stared at his copilot, an unbidden memory surfacing from his childhood. He saw himself as a child, sick and feverish, being nursed to health by the only mothering figure he'd ever known, her furry paw brushing hair from his forehead in the same manner as Chewie was now.  
  
He shook the image away, steeling himself against the pain it brought. He set his jaw. Just another person he'd cared about and lost.  
  
He looked down at the sleeping rebel and asked, "How much time we got left?"  
  
Chewie looked up gave his estimation. An hour and a half.  
  
Han nodded, trying to force his face to remain expressionless as he stared at Luke. He wouldn't think about the Princess, or Alderaan, or the Alliance. He wouldn't think about possible outcomes. Grimly, he moved to empty the basin so he could administer more cold compresses to the feverish hero. After all, there was nothing left to do. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Same old, same old.   
  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 4  
  
  
Han rubbed his weary eyes, and glanced at the chrono. A half-hour remained until they jumped out of hyperspace and into orbit around Krall. A little more than half an hour before Luke received any medical attention. And a good hour until Han would be able to walk up to Her Highnessness and bid her a fond farewell. In the past hour, Han's resolve to leave the rebellion had hardened and become something akin to an ice-cold diamond that rested uncomfortably in his chest. Equally uncomfortable was the silence that Chewie now favored him with.   
  
From his seat in the cockpit, Han craned his neck in the direction of the sleeping cabin where the Wookie now sat watching over the ailing rebel. Han had grown too frustrated with the futility of trying to take care of someone whose condition continued to deteriorate in spite of all the effort being spent, and had given up. He was no doctor, and he was thoroughly ill at ease with trying to nurse a sick friend. A sick rebel, he mentally corrected himself. He'd only known the kid a few months, and he was more of a pain than anything else. He seemed to follow Han around like some sort of adoring shadow, trying to pick up as much as he could from the smuggler while he could. Han had assented, figuring that if the kid wised up in the process, it would strengthen his chances of surviving this war he was hell-bent on fighting. Throwing a glance back toward the rest of the ship once more, Han frowned as he wondered what the kid's chances were now.   
  
He shook his head wearily, trying to rid himself of the strange feeling that had crept over him at the thought. He must be feeling sorry for the kid, he figured. After all, it was understandable to feel pity for someone who'd come from nowhere to become a hero, only to fall victim to a mysterious illness. Hell, he'd feel sorry for anyone who had to go that way. He'd almost done it himself as a kid. He remembered just how close he'd come to death, and shuddered. If Dewlanna hadn't paid for . . ..  
  
Han clenched his fists and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to think about that now. He wasn't that scared kid anymore. He'd fought his way out of more dire circumstances than people twice his age, and he'd managed to finally carve out a decent life for himself. He had a ship, he had a job, he had a reputation, and he had Chewie. He didn't need anything else. He certainly didn't need this war and the inevitable pain it would bring. After all, how upsetting would this whole situation be right now if he actually cared for the kid? He might be as nervous and tense as Chewie was.  
  
As if on cue, Chewie's nervous howl suddenly broke into his thoughts.  
  
"What, Chewie?" Han called back, wearily getting to his feet and moving out of the cockpit.  
  
The Wookie's reply had Han sprinting back toward the bunk where Luke had been resting since they'd left Ryall.   
  
"He's what!" Han quickly entered the cabin only to have Chewie's words confirmed. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the kid had taken a drastic turn for the worse.  
  
The cabin was filled with the sound of Luke's raspy breathing as he tossed restlessly upon the bed. The fevered flush was gone from his cheeks, replaced with a deathly pallor that enveloped his features. Combined with the sheen of sweat that covered his face, it gave Han the impression of a grotesque wax carving of the young rebel. Tentatively placing a hand on the kid's forehead, Han flinched as he noted that in spite of his colorless appearance, the fever had spiked. He was hotter than ever, and Han could see the vein in Luke's neck pulsing rapidly as his head arched, eyes rolling backward under trembling lids. His lips moved as though mumbling something that could be neither heard nor understood.  
  
Han dropped to his knees beside him. "Oh, shavit!" he swore, grasping the kid's face in his hands. "Don't do this, kid! Luke, do you hear me? Don't you dare do this!"  
  
The kid continued to thrash feverishly, his breathing becoming more rapid and shallow. Han rose shakily, frantically searching for anything he could do at this point. He wasn't about to let the kid die!  
  
"Ice!" He shouted suddenly, dashing out of the cabin and heading toward the galley. Fervently hoping that there was any ice to be found, he was shocked and relieved to find that there was. Grabbing the ice and wrapping it in the washcloth that had been used earlier to sponge him down with cool water, he ran back to the bunk. He gently placed the wrapped ice against Luke's forehead, hoping it would be enough.   
  
"No," came a hoarse groan. The kid seemed to be struggling to get away from the ice in his delirium. "Cold."  
  
Han frowned. "It's supposed to be cold, kid," he said, keeping the ice against his skin. "Don't fight me."  
  
"No," Luke continued to moan, wriggling away from Han's hand.  
  
Han swore. "Chewie, grab the rest of the ice, will ya'." Chewie darted out and was back with the ice in record time. Han quickly pulled down the blankets that were covering Luke and grabbed the ice that Chewie held in his hands.  
  
Chewie growled in confusion.  
  
"It's called desperation," Han replied curtly before dumping the ice on Luke's torso. He wasn't sure it was the best idea, but it was the only one he could think of to get the kid's fever down.  
  
Luke reacted instantly. His body arched, trying to escape the frigid substance he'd been doused with. However, his fevered struggle finally succumbed to the fact that there was nowhere to go to escape the ice that now covered the bed. Weak and trembling, he slowly stopped thrashing and collapsed upon the icy bed.  
  
Han held his breath, placing his hand on the kid's forehead once again. To his disappointment, the fever did not seem to have come down at all, even though Luke had ceased struggling. Han waited a tense moment, hoping that the shock of the cold ice had not done more harm than good. Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Han looked up at Chewie questioningly. Had he just unwittingly killed Luke?  
  
"Han?"  
  
The whispered question was barely audible, but Han reacted to it as though it had been blasted into his ear with an amplifier. He quickly searched Luke's pale features for signs of awareness. Was the kid delirious, or asking for him?  
  
"Han?" Luke repeated, eyelids fluttering slightly as glassy blue eyes struggled to scan the room.  
  
"Right here, kid," Han replied gently, placing his hands upon the kid's shoulders. His tunic was damp with sweat and melted ice. As Han held him that way, Luke began to shiver.  
  
"Cold," he groaned, trembling with a sudden onslaught of chills.  
  
"I know, kid," Han soothed. "It's ice. To bring down the fever."  
  
"Ice?"   
  
Han nodded. "Yeah, so just relax." He reached up to touch his forehead again, and noted that, although still hot, it was slightly less feverish than before. Han relaxed slightly, relieved that he hadn't accidentally killed him.  
  
"Han don't leave," Luke whispered.  
  
Han shook his head, replying, "Shhh, I'm not going anywhere. Just relax, kid."  
  
"No," Luke protested. "Don't leave."  
  
Han's shoulders sank in disappointment. The kid was still delirious. He looked up at Chewie for reassurance. The Wookie simply looked back at him sadly. Turning back to Luke, he said, "Kid, I already told you, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Luke shook his head, his blue eyes struggling to focus on Han. "The Rebellion, Han."  
  
Han frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Don't leave us," Luke managed in a weakening voice. "She needs you."  
  
"She?" Han asked in confusion, trying to follow the kid's train of delirious thought. "You mean, the Princess?"  
  
Luke nodded weakly. "Got to help her, Han." His voice was barely audible, and his eyelids drooped shut.  
  
"Hey, kid," Han prompted, shaking his shoulders gently. "Stay with me, here."  
  
Luke didn't open his eyes, but instead whispered, "Help Leia."  
  
Han scowled. The last thing he needed was to be told what to do by a delirious kid. But before he could reply with anything suitable that wouldn't upset the kid, Luke opened his eyes again.  
  
He moved his lips in a near-silent whisper, before dropping off into unconsciousness once more.  
  
Han sat staring down at the pale, sick form in the bunk in front of him, trying to figure out what the kid had meant. "Victory?" He glanced up at Chewie once more. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
  
************************  
  
  
"Chewie, bring us out of hyperspace," Han called out to the copilot and first mate and he heard the proximity alarm sound from the engineering console. Knowing Chewie had either heard him or the alarm, Han turned back to the young man on the bunk in front of him. Luke was still at the moment, having been mumbling incoherently only a few minutes earlier. For nine hours, the young rebel's condition had steadily deteriorated, and Han could only hope that the medics at the Rebel base on Krall could do something to help him. After all, surely they would know more about bringing down a seemingly relentless fever than he did.  
  
Draping a cool, damp cloth over Luke's forehead, Han rose from his seat. Muscles that had tensed in frustration groaned in protest. "I'll be back, kid. Soon as I talk to that princess of yours." He headed out of the cabin, more than just a little bit eager to get Leia Organa on the comm. Chewie's earlier warning that the Rebellion may be wary about letting a deathly ill passenger land without knowing the cause of the illness had him nervous. The kid's only chance rested with that uppity princess who seemed to be almost as devoted to Luke as he was to her. If he played his cards right, her Worshipfulness would be the key to getting Luke the attention he needed.   
  
And he needed it soon.  
  
Upon entering the cockpit, he slumped into his seat with relief at the sight of the planet that hovered in front of them. "Punch me through to them, Chewie."  
  
In a flurry of motion, Chewie had activated the comm and was transmitting to the Rebel base.  
  
"Delta One, this is the Falcon," Han spoke loud and clear. "Do you read?"  
  
"Copy, Falcon," a voice on the comm replied seconds later. Han smiled at the swiftness of their response. These Rebels were vigilant. "Having fun yet, Solo?"  
  
Han raised an eyebrow as he recognized the voice. "Wedge, what the--" He laughed. "Who stationed you in the command center, kid?"  
  
Han heard the young man laugh. The kid was another hero of Yavin, and nearly as idealistic as Luke was. Quite a pilot, though. His youthful voice squeaked as he spoke. "Hey, we've kinda' gone to hell in a landspeeder down here! We're handling fifty tasks at once. Come on down and join the chaos!"  
  
"Had enough chaos up here, pal," Han quipped. "Just tell me where to land my ship and have a medical team standing by."  
  
There was a pause on the other end. "We're kinda' short on medics right now. Is it serious?"  
  
Han frowned. Trust things to be difficult in an emergency. "Pretty serious, kid. I've got a very sick Skywalker on board."  
  
There was another pause. Han looked to Chewie as the silence drew on, hoping that what was going on down on the planet's surface wasn't what he feared it was.  
  
"You still there, Wedge?" Han pressed when there was no reply, a feeling of dread creeping over him.  
  
When a response finally came, it was in a different voice. "Solo, this is General Rieekan. What's the situation?"  
  
Han fought back the tension that was gathering in his neck and the tightness that had crept into his stomach. Rieekan had taken over? This wasn't good. "General, I have a passenger who desperately needs medical attention. He's been feverish for nine hours and is having difficulty breathing as well."  
  
Silence followed, during which Han began to legitimately worry that Chewie might have been right after all. He waited with forced patience, drumming his fingers on the console as the seconds stretched by. If they didn't land, Luke was as good as dead. Especially if they didn't land soon.  
  
"Solo," Rieekan's voice came back over the comm. "Maintain your orbit."  
  
"What?!" Han cried, his voice filled with disbelief. He hadn't actually expected to be denied like that. What were these people thinking? "Listen here, General. I've got Luke Skywalker up here! And he's going to die unless he gets some medical attention."  
  
"I'm aware of that, Captain," Rieekan replied with obviously forced calm. "However, we cannot risk a potential epidemic. Maintain your orbit."  
  
Han slammed his fist upon the console in frustration. "Then put her Worship on! Lemme talk to her!"  
  
"Captain, please."  
  
"Put her on!" Han ordered. He was overstepping his bounds as a hired pilot, but this was absurd. He wasn't about to stand around and do nothing while a mere kid was left to languish untreated! Even mercenaries were never this unfeeling!  
  
"Captain Solo," came Rieekan's crisp reply. "She is unavailable at this moment, but we're sending a medic up to you. Maintain your orbit and a medical shuttle will dock with you."  
  
Still raging, it took a moment for Han to comprehend what was being said. At this unexpected piece of information, he was left speechless. His cheeks flushed hotly as he struggled to maintain his dignity amid his mixture of embarrassment and relief. "The airlock is topside," he finally managed.  
  
"I'll inform the shuttle crew, Captain," Rieekan answered, none too pleasantly.  
  
Han swallowed. "And thanks, General." He knew it really wasn't enough to smooth things over, but it would have to do for now. Not waiting to hear the general's reply, he cut the transmission. He ran a tired hand across his sweaty forehead and grimaced. It had been a long day and he was growing more frustrated with the situation than he was used to getting. Not to mention, he'd done things that weren't exactly in his normal routine. He'd struggled to help someone, and they continued to get worse. He'd stuck his neck out for results, and had made himself a fool instead. And the day wasn't even over yet. What exactly had gotten into him?  
  
He turned out of the cockpit, refusing to meet the Wookie's gaze. He didn't even want to know what his friend was thinking. "You heard him, Chewie," he said over his shoulder as he left. "Maintain orbit, and I'll prepare for their arrival."  
  
It did not take long for the medical crew to arrive. Han stood waiting in the starboard cargo hold as a young man in a self-contained survival suit scrambled out of the lift platform to the upper air-lock hatch. Momentarily disoriented, it took the young medic a few moments to get his bearings before he turned to face Han.  
  
"Captain Solo, I presume," the young man said, shifting a med-kit under his left arm and extending his right hand in greeting.  
  
Han, however, refused to accept it, taking in the young man's unique attire. "Interesting getup," he said with a snort. "Is it really necessary?"  
  
The young man smiled beneath his mask. "Just taking precautions."  
  
Han nodded with thinly veiled disgust. "Wouldn't it have been simpler, then, to just send up a droid?"  
  
The young medic shook his head. "All the 2-1Bs have been deployed to the Victory."  
  
Han's blood suddenly began to run cold. "The what?"  
  
The medic looked baffled. Arching his eyebrows in disbelief, he asked, "You don't know?"  
  
Han stepped forward menacingly. "Know what?"  
  
Brilliant green eyes suddenly widened in sympathy as the young man shook his head. "A quarter of the base was destroyed, Captain. The ship lost control while entering the atmosphere, and it plowed right into the South Wing."  
  
Han stared at the young man blankly as his brain frantically tried to piece together the information that was being given to him. Already on edge from fatigue, he could feel his heart begin to race and his nerve endings buzz as he struggled to find his voice. "Are you talking about the transport, The Victory? It crashed?"  
  
The young medic nodded. "Yes, Captain."  
  
A cold knot began to form in Han's stomach as he recalled Luke's delirious rantings from earlier in the day. This was all too unreal and unnatural. Surely, this couldn't be one of those Force things the kid was always talking about. Partly to dismiss this all as coincidence and partly fearing the worst, Han ventured to ask, "Was the Princess involved in this somehow?"  
  
He was deeply cognizant of his thudding heartbeat in the precious seconds it took before he received his answer.  
  
"Yes. She was on board."  
  
Years of gambling and smuggling had ingrained in him an instinctive physical control to suppress any reaction to even the most shocking of news. But, never the less, Han placed a hand against the familiar interior wall of the Falcon to steady himself. Fortunately, he was saved the task of asking any more questions by the young medic who seemed eager to fill him in on the details.  
  
"She was injured, but not badly. The pilot was killed, though, and so were several of the officers in that wing at the time of the crash. Lots of injuries, too."  
  
Han only listened half-consciously to the young man's words. First and foremost in his mind was the information that she had only been mildly injured. That meant she was alive, and probably bossing those poor 2-1B droids around in her usual annoying manner. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips at this thought, even as he suppressed the urge to shudder at her irritatingly domineering ways. He could almost picture her in his mind's eye: hair perfectly braided and coiled atop her head, undisturbed in spite of the bruises on her face and the bandage on her leg as she hobbled around shouting commands and maintaining order in the midst of chaos. That was her Worshipfulness, all right.  
  
"Are you all right, sir?"  
  
The softly spoken question jarred Han back to reality. What had he been doing visualizing the princess? Why had he seen her so clearly? And why did she suddenly and unexpectedly seem to matter? He shook his head in self-disgust. He must really be tired. Speaking of being tired . . ..  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. "But my passenger definitely isn't."  
  
The medic nodded. "Show me the way, Captain."  
  
Han turned and headed out of the hold, a nagging feeling inside telling him that he wasn't simply tired. He knew it was much more than that. But the last thing he would admit to himself was the notion that he cared about these people. Pushing the idea back into the furthest recesses of his mind, he silently led the medic toward Luke's bunk. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The medic is mine. All other characters, and the GFFA belong to GL.  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 5  
  
  
Han leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the young medic take Luke's vital signs.  
  
"How long's his fever been like this?" the medic asked, his brows furrowed in concern.  
  
"About nine hours," Han replied, uneasy with so much worry coming from a medic who was supposed to be used to this kind of thing.  
  
The young man's reaction to his words didn't reassure him any. "Damn! Were you able to bring it down at all?"  
  
Han shifted his gaze to the ailing rebel on the bunk. Deathly pale and unnaturally still, the kid looked like he was barely clinging to life. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest and the soft wheeze that accompanied the motion signaled that he was alive at all. His body showed no reaction to the scans and probes to which the medic was subjecting him, and Han found himself silently apologizing to the kid for not being able to do more to help.   
  
"Chewie and me doused him in ice," he found himself saying. "That worked for a bit. But the fever was still pretty high."  
  
The medic shook his head as he continued to assess his patient. "He's severely dehydrated, " he murmured. "Any delirium?"  
  
Han nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Seizures?"  
  
Han frowned. "Not that I'm aware of. A few coughing spells."  
  
The medic grimaced. "I'm not surprised, considering the scan shows double pneumonia."  
  
"Double pneumonia?"  
  
"Both lungs are infected," the medic explained, looking up at Han, "instead of just one." He dug into his med-kit and pulled out a small, fluid-filled bag with a thin tube attached, and handed it to Han. "Here, hold this for a second. I want to start a fluid-drip on him before his kidneys shut down."  
  
Han obediently did as asked, feeling oddly helpless and subservient on his own ship. He watched as the young medic attached the tube to an IV catheter in Luke's arm before resuming his analysis of Luke's symptoms. "Do you want me to just keep holding this?" Han asked, indicating the fluid bag.  
  
The medic looked back at him with a dry smile. "Let me know if you get tired."  
  
In other circumstances, Han would have told the young man exactly where he could stick the bag, but he merely held his tongue and nodded. Now was not the time for him to take offense. Not when another's life was hanging in the balance.  
  
The medic continued to work quickly, finally taking a quick blood sample and running it through an analyzer. "Now let's see if we can't figure out what's causing the infection," he mumbled as he watched the machine synthesize the data into a probable diagnosis. He paused, shaking his head at the readout. "This can't be right."  
  
"What?" Han asked quickly, surprised at his own level of alarm.  
  
"Hang on," the medic muttered as he took another blood sample and ran it through the machine. "Let me try this again." He waited for the results to come up before he murmured, "Well, I'll be damned."  
  
"What is it?" Han demanded.  
  
The medic shook his head in disbelief. "This scan shows that your passenger here has contracted Corellian Influenza."  
  
Through his exhaustion, the medic's words seemed to slowly penetrate his brain. "Wait," Han voiced, questioningly, "isn't that impossible? I thought Corellian Flu was practically extinct."  
  
"It practically is," the medic agreed, taking another look at his patient. "Where's this kid from?"  
  
Han forced himself not to scowl at the medic's use of the term "kid." It seemed rather derogatory considering the medic seemed barely older than Luke himself. "Tatooine," he replied as politely as he could. "On the outer rim."  
  
"Much Imperial presence there?" the medic asked.  
  
Wondering what he was getting at, Han shook his head and replied, "No. It's primarily a Hutt world, with only one spaceport and scattered moisture farms."  
  
"Well, then it's obvious," the medic concluded as the pieces visibly fell into place.   
  
Han suddenly came to the same conclusion. "He was never immunized?"  
  
The medic arched an eyebrow. "This is the same kid that flew against the Death Star without any flight experience, right? My guess is he was never fully processed. And likely, they never tested him for the standard antibodies because they just assumed that everyone in the galaxy has had their shots. Of course, what most people forget is that there are societies of people who never even think about immunizations and plagues because they're so far out of touch they never come in contact with others enough to worry about it." He pointed to Luke, "Case in point."  
  
Han had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. "I don't believe this! All this because the kid never got a couple of lousy shots?"  
  
The medic turned back to his kit, talking as he rummaged around inside. "Well, now that we know what it is, at least we can give him some medications right away to stabilize him until we get to the planet. Corellian Flu can be fatal, but there are plenty of other diseases out there that he could have picked up that are much worse. The fact that he lasted this long without treatment speaks wonders for his constitution, but I wouldn't want to see how he would fare of he was subjected to a bout of Ithorian Fever or something along those lines."  
  
"Of course not," was all Han could manage to say. At the moment he wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that the kid was finally getting the treatment he needed or totally angry at the kid for being stupid enough to get in this situation in the first place. Not to mention, Han had been worried sick over the whole thing for the past nine hours! That in itself crazy enough to warrant extreme anger. He didn't know what to think or what to feel, and the confusion was enough to make him explode. But all he could do was stand and hold the fluid bag as the medic administered two injections.  
  
His confusion must have been evident on his face, but the medic misinterpreted it. "I'm just giving him a fast-acting fever-reducer and a decongestant. That ought to hold him until we reach the medcenter."  
  
Han nodded mutely, watching as the two injections seemed to take immediate effect. Luke slowly began to shift where he lay, wrinkling his forehead as he struggled back to consciousness.   
  
The medic didn't seem to take much notice as he spoke into a com-link. "Delta One, come back." Han strained his ears to hear the reply, but he couldn't catch it. "Yeah," the medic continued, "I'm on board the Falcon, and there's no threat of contagion. But we need a fully equipped team ready for us when we land. Do you copy?" Another pause as the medic listened to the reply. "Copy that. We're on our way down." He switched off his com-link and turned back to Han. "We're clear to land. Proceed to one-two-zero-point-four."  
  
Han fixed him with a glare for a moment, wondering whether or not to put this medic in his place. Instead, Han replied, "Yes, sir." He then handed the medic the fluid back and walked briskly up to the cockpit.  
  
At Chewie's questioning growl, Han scowled. "Just fly us to the medcenterand don't ask. I'll fill ya' in later."  
  
At least this trip was finally over. Now to find out just how badly the alliance had suffered during his absence.  
  
***********************************  
  
  
The state of the Rebel base wasn't as bad as Han had initially thought. It was worse. Rescue crews and emergency technicians raced through the corridors, jostling Han as he tried to make his way toward the South Wing. Injured Rebels on gurneys and various medical droids lined the walls, and he found himself swallowing back a momentary surge of panic. Just how badly would the fragile rebellion suffer because of this? How many men had they lost? How many more wounded? And how many ships damaged? It was well that the idealistic young rebel who had first dragged him into this mess was unconscious in the medical center. The sight of this would devastate him.  
  
He shuddered to think of what the Princess was experiencing at this moment.  
  
Without realizing it, he had instinctively headed off to find her as soon as Luke had been admitted for treatment. Even as he moved through the crowded and chaotic hallways, he could not fathom why he was making the pilgrimage to the South Wing in the first place. He was not in any mood or shape to help out in any serious fashion. He'd just gone through the most grueling ten hours he'd ever experienced on board his own ship, feeling helpless and bewildered throughout the whole ordeal. He certainly had no desire to relive the experience on a grander scale with a wing full of injured and dying Rebels. Yet, even as the doubts and grumblings echoed in his mind, he found himself heading into the fray as though pulled by an invisible lifeline.  
  
The question was, who was tugging on the other end?  
  
Certainly not Her Worshipfulness! That stuck-up, arrogant, bossy, and hot tempered Princess was in no way the driving force here! He commanded his own destiny, and he was never going to give up the pilot's seat. Not again. He'd been down that road, and he knew what lay at the end of it. While it was true that he didn't want to see Her Highnessness hurt or suffering, he had to remind himself that he was not on his way to check up on her or help her in any way. That would be ridiculous!  
  
But still, the question remained: Why was he fighting bustling crowds of frantic rebels to get to the end of this hallway?  
  
"Why are you still here?" a familiar female voice could be heard up ahead. "I told you to get yourself over to the medcenter right away!" There was no mistaking the authoritative, regal tone of that voice. Nor the weariness and desperation that colored it now.  
  
Fighting his way toward the voice, he tried vainly to spot the Princess in the harried crowd. With so many people in the way, she was impossible to see. Finally giving up on the chances of visually identifying her, he called, "Need any help there, Your Highness?"  
  
A young crewman just ahead of him suddenly shifted to one side, and within moments the face of the Princess Leia Organa appeared just beneath his shoulder. "Captain Solo?"  
  
Han smiled as politely as tired muscles would allow as she pressed forward. It was no wonder she couldn't be seen in the crowd. He only now realized just how petite she truly was. Somehow her presence always seemed larger than life. Or maybe it was just that she could be so oppressively annoying at times.  
  
Now however, the desperation in her voice was apparent. Her carefully braided coronet of hair had begun to unravel, and her face had been marred by a few bruises and one nasty looking cut just beside her left eye. It had been closed with adhesive, but it looked painful all the same. Taking a quick assessment of the rest of her, he noticed that her left arm was in a sling, but she appeared to be okay for the most part.  
  
"When did you get back?" Her question was abrupt, making it unreadable. Was she happy that he was back? Was she annoyed? Was she just trying to get any and all information as it came in?  
  
Why did he care?  
  
"Just a few minutes ago," he replied, his voice barely concealing his own annoyance at himself.  
  
"Did the mission go all right?"  
  
Han blinked a moment. The mission. Of course, that was why he'd been sent to fly Luke out to that forsaken planet in the first place. With all that had gone on in the past few hours, it had somehow managed to slip his mind. He struggled for a quick answer.  
  
"We'll find out soon, Your Highness."  
  
The young woman frowned, her forehead crinkling in concern. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, I haven't had the chance to get the data to command yet, but . . ."  
  
"Wait," she said, abruptly cutting him off. "Why do you have it? What happened to Luke?"  
  
Han ran a hand through his hair feeling, vaguely uncomfortable at the sudden panic in her voice and not knowing why. "Well, uh . . .you see . . ."  
  
"Your Highness," a young man interrupted.  
  
Leia quickly turned to him. "Yes?"  
  
Han was thankful for the interruption, but he pitied the poor rebel who was under the Princess's hard and questioning gaze at the moment.  
  
"The medcenter said they're afraid to take any more of the lesser injuries because of a lack of space and the threat of infection. But the emergency department still has room for the severely wounded." The young man seemed out of breath, and Han wondered if he'd just run from the medcenter. "They suggest setting up a portable unit in East Corridor 1 to handle the rest."  
  
Leia nodded. "Agreed. Have them send over the supplies and we'll start setting up right away."  
  
The man nodded in turn. "Yes, Your Highness," he said as he started to turn away.  
  
Leia's arm suddenly darted out and grabbed him before he could hurry back. "Wait. What infection?"  
  
He shrugged. "Some rookie's sick, and they're afraid that there's been a failure on the part of the medical staff regarding immunizations."  
  
"Is it serious?"  
  
"No, ma'am. It's not like they're afraid of an epidemic or anything like that on the base. But the medics are hesitant to place injured men who are already at risk in a contaminated area. Corellian Influenza isn't something you want to mess around with."  
  
"No, of course not," Leia absently replied. "I'll get to work on this right away," she added as a dismissal to the young man. She turned back to Han. "Wait right here for a moment while I take care of this."  
  
Han watched as she quickly dashed out of sight to handle the setting up of the portable medstation, feeling somewhat guilty for holding back his own pertinent information during her conversation with the young messenger. She just seemed so frantic that he hardly wanted to add to her already overburdened plate. Within moments, she dashed back through the chaos to join him once more.  
  
Pushing a tendril of hair off of her forehead, she looked up at the Corellian. Her fatigue was evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but she was fighting to remain ever the strong and fearless leader. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said politely. "You were saying?"  
  
Han shook his head. Feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic toward her, he said, "I was going to say that I think you need to get off your feet for a moment. You look ready to collapse."  
  
In response, she drew herself up as ramrod straight as she could, even as her tired muscles seemed to protest. "Captain, in case you haven't noticed, I am needed right here."  
  
"What you need is to sit down before you fall down, Your Worshipfulness!" he snapped. "I've already dealt with one sick rebel today and that's enough!"  
  
He immediately realized his mistake as her eyes widened at him. "You mean that Luke is . . .?"  
  
Han didn't get a chance to answer. Without another word, the young Princess pushed him aside and rushed toward the medical center, leaving Han to stare at her wake, baffled and forgotten.  
  
Tired and cranky, he slowly followed the path she had just taken, wondering why he suddenly felt so bitter. So much for being needed here, he thought to himself, looking darkly across the crowded corridor. It wasn't like he hadn't expected her to be worried about the kid. Being shoved aside was another matter. Of course, that shouldn't really bother him either. Should it? The confused faces around him seemed to mirror the confusion that coursed within him.   
  
This was turning into a very, very long day. 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Same as before.  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 6  
  
  
By the time a very weary Han reached the medcenter, Princess Leia was wreaking her own special brand of havoc.  
  
"What do you mean I can't go in there and see him?" she was hollering, while a very nervous tech stood before her.  
  
"Y-your Highness," the young woman stammered in reply, "I can't let anyone in there yet."  
  
"Why?" the princess demanded.  
  
"He's still fighting against the fever," the tech replied, forcing as much dignity into her voice as she could. Han truly felt sorry for her at that moment. He knew what it was like to be under one of her Worshipfulness' verbal onslaughts. It was certainly a difficult place to find oneself in. Admirably, the young woman plodded on. "Once the fever has broken, he can have visitors. But right now, he's far too weak."  
  
Han expected her Highnessness to continue her tirade, and he moved to step between her and the hapless tech. To his surprise, the princess sighed and backed off, moving silently out into the hallway without another glance toward him or the young woman she'd been shouting at just a few moments earlier. Han watched her exit in total shock, not sure what to make of her uncharacteristic shift from attack to surrender. Concerned, he gave a polite nod toward the young tech before following the princess out into the hallway.  
  
Outside the medcenter, he found her slouched in an uncomfortable looking chair, appearing utterly defeated. Cold, hard worry formed in the pit of his stomach as he gazed upon her exhausted features and watched a solitary tear slowly make it's way down her dirt-streaked cheek. This was a side to the princess he'd never seen. She wasn't supposed to act this way. She was defiant, obstinate, aggressive, opinionated, bossy, determined, and optimistic. This was a woman who'd watched her world explode before her eyes shortly before ordering her two would-be rescuers around the Death Star in a hastily and haphazardly constructed escape plan. This was a woman who had an answer for everything. Come to think of it, this was a woman who usually pissed Han off royally, no pun intended.   
  
As his concern mounted, so did his confusion. Surely, this couldn't be all because of Luke. Could it?  
  
Crossing in front of her, he sat down in an equally uncomfortable chair as the one she now occupied, and gazed into her face. "You okay?"  
  
She refused to look up into his gaze. "This isn't supposed to happen," she whispered, barely audible.  
  
Han shook his head in confusion. "What's not supposed to happen?"  
  
At his question, she finally brought her gaze up to meet his. Tired and tearful brown eyes stared into his own. She gestured weakly around her. "All of this. This-this mess," she finally managed, her voice starting to break a little with each word. "The ship, the base, Luke. None of this is supposed to be going on right now."  
  
Hearing her start to break down, and still unsure of the cause, Han leaned forward. He softened his expression and his voice as he tried to soothe her. "Hey, it's not--"  
  
She cut him off abruptly with a sob. "We won the battle, didn't we?" she cried. "I mean, the Death Star was destroyed! So why are things so bad right now? Aren't they supposed to be better? Aren't we supposed to be moving forward instead of falling behind?" She stopped, her eyes fixed on him in a pleading gaze he was finding it increasingly difficult to look at.  
  
Amazed at his own actions, he took her hand and tried to comfort her, although he wasn't sure why he was doing it. Maybe it was simply because he hated to see people suffer. That had to be it. Looking down at the hand in his, he mumbled, "Things are rocky right now, sure. But they're gonna' get better. I've seen you guys at work, and I've gotta tell ya' that you're not doing a bad job."  
  
His words didn't exactly receive the reaction he expected. As he looked back into her face, he was startled to see a very angry princess staring back at him. In one swift motion, she yanked her hand out of his and rose out of her seat, in an instant becoming her usual regal and haughty self once again.   
  
"Right," she bit out. "So long as you get paid, everything is all right in your book, isn't it, Captain?" With that, she spun on her heel and stormed angrily away.  
  
Watching her retreat for the second time that day, Han succumbed to fatigue and baffled frustration. Whirling, he rammed his fist into the wall in an explosion of pent-up emotion--emotion he was still puzzled over experiencing. Wincing in pain, he rubbed his knuckles and wondered when these people had suddenly started to matter.  
  
Well, it was time to change that. Moving in the opposite direction the princess had taken, he decided it was time to make a clean break of it. It was time to leave these rebels to their war. It was time to tell Chewie to fire up the engines so they could blast off this rock.  
  
*************************  
  
By the time Han was able to make it through the crowded and harried halls of the base to the Falcon, his resolve had hardened to steel. He was leaving, and there wasn't a single being in the whole galaxy that could change his mind. He was as good as gone.  
  
There was just one small problem.  
  
"Chewie!" was all Han could manage to scream as he entered the hangar and gazed upon his beloved ship. Wires dangled from opened hatches on her belly, and cables were strewn across the upper hull as muffled banging noises could be heard echoing through the metal plating. Han's temper flared as he roared again. "Chewie!"  
  
He heard the Wookie's questioning growl a few seconds before his furry head appeared upside down from one of the opened bottom hatches.  
  
"What are you doin'?" Han cried in disbelief as he crossed the distance between himself and the Wookie in two strides. "I'm tryin' to get us out of here, and you're tearin' her apart!"  
  
Chewie's explanation was far from satisfying.  
  
"I don't care if you think she needed maintenance," growled Han in response. "She was flyin' fine before, and now she ain't flyin' at all!" Gesturing to the wires and cables and dangling pieces of metal, he continued, "What, you had to go tearin' her apart with out sayin' a word to me about if first? Get me stuck here on this forsaken planet with these idiots who think that a galactic war is the answer to all their problems? I got debts I gotta pay, pall! I can't be hangin' around here waitin' for these folks to get themselves blown up by the Empire! I mean, look at this place!"  
  
At that moment, Chewie seemed to lose his temper with Han and began to throw some angry comments of his own. Han waved him aside.  
  
"First of all, pal, I can't take ya' seriously hangin' upside down like that," Han sneered. "Second, you swore a life debt to me, not them. Now, I've tried to get rid of ya' before, so if you'd rather cast your lot with a bunch of doomed idealists, no one's stoppin' ya'!"  
  
With that, Chewie dropped down out of the hatch and advanced on Han, towering over him menacingly. For a split second, Han was terrified that he'd gone too far in his tirade, letting his mouth get the better of his brain. However, Chewie merely growled that he must might cast his lot with these rebels before storming out of the hangar, leaving Han to stare at his retreating bulk and wonder once more about the pit he seemed to be digging himself further and further into.  
  
Turning back toward the mess that was the Falcon, Han mused that he'd been doing a lot of wondering lately. Never before had he seemed to question his actions and motives as much as he did now. His life had been so simple. He'd been through hell once before, and in his resolve to never experience that again he'd managed to carve out an existence that was free of complications. He had his ship, his income, and his copilot. The life every boy dreams of. Now, however, his life seemed to be riddled with complications, contradictions, and everything else that gave his mind pause. How was it that in the course of just two months, his life had been so drastically altered?  
  
"Captain Solo?"  
  
Han spun around to locate the source of the voice that had just pulled him out of his thoughts. The young medic who had come aboard the Falcon earlier now stood in front of him.  
  
"Yeah?" Han managed. He wasn't really interested in talking to any rebel, least of all this guy who had come across as brash and arrogant, in spite of his help with Luke.  
  
The medic seemed to be looking beyond him. "Quite a job you have here, huh?" he asked, meeting Han's gaze and indicating the Falcon.  
  
Han stared at him squarely and answered, "Yeah, well, my copilot decided to do some last minute repairs. You know, to get her up to peak efficiency."  
  
The medic grinned. "And that would be the angry Wookie who just passed me in the corridor?"  
  
Fed up, Han only glared. "What do you want?"  
  
The young man's grin faded. "Well, your friend sent me to find you."  
  
"Friend?"  
  
"The kid in the medcenter."  
  
Luke? Han immediately bristled as his defenses took over. "Yeah, well, the kid is not my friend. I was hired to fly him to Ryall and back in one piece. I take my job very seriously."  
  
The medic nodded in feigned understanding. "I see," he replied. "Well, whatever he is to you, he asked for you. His fever broke and he's allowed visitors, so I figured I'd deliver his message. I thought he was a friend of yours, but I guess he just wanted to express his gratitude or something."  
  
Han liked this guy even less with every word he spoke. "Well, thanks for the message," he bit out. "Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to my fixing my ship. If you'll excuse me, Doctor-" Han suddenly realized he'd never gotten the young medic's name.  
  
"Cabbel," the young man replied. "Doctor Cabbel."  
  
Han frowned. "Cabbel," he muttered. "Now why does that name sound familiar?"  
  
Cabbel shrugged. "Ever do business on Carida?"  
  
Han stiffened. Indeed, he'd been to Carida. He'd spent more time there than he'd care to remember. "You could say that," he replied.  
  
Cabbel's eyes narrowed. "Well then you could say that my father did also. He's a high-ranking officer, I believe. Spent some time training cadets before he got transferred to the Imperial fleet. That was the last I heard."  
  
"And they let you run around operating on wounded rebels with a father in the Imperial fleet?" Han laughed. "Pretty desperate, huh?"  
  
Cabbel laughed bitterly in return. "Take a look around, Captain. This place is full of people with ties to the Imperials in some form or another. Some of us are ex-Imperials ourselves. Others are refugees from planets that have been overtaken. Some are the children of parents murdered by Imperials. And others are the rebellious offspring of Imperial military. None of that matters, as long as you know which side you are on and you commit to fighting for it."  
  
Han shook his head cynically. "You know, all you guys here sound the same. Just wait 'til you've flown around the Galaxy a couple times and see how idealistic you are then."  
  
To his credit, the medic remained expressionless. "I've been around the Galaxy, Captain, although I doubt that would impress you even if you believed me. But keep in mind that there are men and women here who have been through as much as you have and maybe more at half your age. So your smug attitude means absolutely nothing to me."  
  
Han had had enough. Who was this young stranger to call him smug? "Listen, Junior-"  
  
"I've said my peace," the medic said, cutting him off and holding up his hands placatingly. "I only came to deliver a message, and I've said more than I intended. Now if you'll excuse me. I know you have a ship to fix, and I have patients to attend to."  
  
With that, Cabbel turned and left. Han watched him leave, and then turned back toward the mess behind him. Staring at the jumbled coils and wires, he realized his life was just as confused, chaotic, and disassembled. How many times today had people stormed away from him in anger? How many times today had he been left to sort out what had just transpired? And how many times today had he sworn not to let any of it matter?  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and let it rest on his neck. He had to face the truth. Somehow, some way, it did matter. He wouldn't be this tense and exhausted if it didn't. The problem was, he was at a loss to figure out why. Why did any of this matter? Why did these people matter? He'd only known them for two months. Granted, he'd known Chewie for years, and he could understand why the Wookie's disappointment might affect him. But what about these rebels? Was he going soft? Was he losing his edge?  
  
There was only one way to find out. Leaving the Falcon in it's dismantled state, he headed toward the medcenter. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  
  
  
A Change of Plans: Chapter 7  
  
  
Pale and still, Luke was asleep in a private room in the medcenter. Apparently, there was still a bit of fear of contagion, so they were keeping him isolated from the rest of the patients. Han had had to convince the droid on duty that he was both fully immunized and conscientious enough not to wake the young rebel in order to enter the room. Now, gazing at the kid's unconscious form, Han wondered why he'd even bothered to come. After all, Luke may have asked for him, but he was pretty much out of commission at the moment, so there wasn't much purpose in Han's being there. In addition, the kid's fever may have broken, but he still looked far too sick and weak to hold any sort of conversation, even if he'd been awake. Feeling stupid for being there, but somehow unable to leave, Han pulled up a chair and waited for some sign from the young rebel.  
  
As he sat and gazed upon the sleeping kid, Han noted that he looked pretty worn. Dark circles rested beneath closed lids that fluttered furiously in some dream-filled sleep. His clothes had been replaced by a medcenter gown that seemed to accent the fact that he was far too thin, and his pale features only made it worse. Had the kid been eating and sleeping at all before getting sick? Han hadn't noticed anything before, but his appearance was far too altered to be solely the result of the illness. Granted, Corellian Influenza was nasty business, but the kid had only been sick for little more than a day. Surely it was impossible to lose as much weight as Luke appeared to have lost in so little time. And the kid hadn't been all that big to begin with. Han frowned at the thought. Just a short while earlier, he'd come to realize that the all-mighty Princess was not as impervious as he'd initially thought. Did perennially cheerful Luke have a hidden dark side as well?  
  
Just then, as if in answer, the kid stirred in his sleep. A slight wheeze accompanied Luke's sharp intake of breath as he shifted, frowning as though in the grip of a nightmare.  
  
"No, please," the kid moaned softly, beginning to tense. Han watched as Luke began to clench his fists, whispering, "Don't."  
  
Han's own expression turned to a frown as he watched Luke in concern. Worried, he gently placed a finger on the kid's forehead, just to make sure that the fever wasn't returning. It wasn't, for the kid was cool, much cooler than he'd been aboard the Falcon a few hours ago. Yet, he continued to moan and toss in his sleep.  
  
"No, don't," the kid continued to plead to someone or something in his nightmare. His head tossed back and forth on the pillow and his frown deepened, as though he was trying to shut out what he was seeing in his dream. "No," he groaned, louder this time, although his illness had turned his voice into more of a croak than a cry.  
  
Han turned his glance toward the door, wondering if he should get the droid into the room, when Luke's sudden cry startled him.  
  
"Uncle O-" Luke's panicked shout died on his lips the split second his eyes flew open, staring in wide-eyed panic at the ceiling. Han watched as Luke's face showed his mind's frantic search to get his bearings.   
  
Han uncertainly placed a hand on Luke's shoulder in an attempt to help him reorient himself. At the touch, the kid flinched and his blue eyes jumped to Han.  
  
Almost instantaneously, the kid relaxed, coughing a little as his breathing slowed at the familiar sight of the smuggler. "Han," the kid's broken voice spoke in relieved tones. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Han's face warmed in self-conscious embarrassment at the kid's obvious delight at seeing him there. "Uh, you asked for me, kid," Han replied, not knowing what else to say.  
  
Luke gave him a puzzled look. "I did?"  
  
Han smirked, feeling a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Well, that's what the medic said."  
  
Luke shrugged. "Oh, I guess I forgot. Been a rough day, you know."  
  
"You don't say," Han quipped. Satisfied with Luke's weak smile in response, he asked, "So how're ya' feelin'?"  
  
Han watched as Luke seemed to be searching for the appropriate word. "Shredded," the kid finally replied. "That's the best I can do to describe it. But apparently I'm a lot better than I was."  
  
Han smiled at his take on the whole thing. "Believe me, kid, you are." Images of the kid blue lipped and sweating on the Falcon's bunk flashed into his mind, and he added, "A whole lot better."  
  
Luke grinned, his eyes fluttering in weariness and exhaustion.  
  
"I should let you get some more sleep," Han suggested, noting Luke's struggle to keep his eyes open. "The droid out there didn't want you waking up, and I promised I'd let you sleep."  
  
"But you didn't," the kid began before being interrupted by a yawn which turned into a weak cough, "wake me up."  
  
"No, the nightmare did," Han suggested, wondering why he was bothering to get into this in the first place. Surely he didn't want the kid opening up to him! That would get the kid thinking that they were friends, which would only make it harder on him when Han finally left.   
  
Finally? Where did that come from? He wasn't planning on staying around long enough for his departure to warrant a finally! Was he? And why did he care about Luke's feelings?  
  
"It was nothing," Luke muttered dismissively. Han could have sworn the kid looked ashamed.  
  
"You sure?" Han asked. Again, he was forced to question his motives in asking.  
  
Instead of replying vocally, Luke nodded, swallowing back a cough as he did so. "I think I'm going to try to sleep some more, though," he finally managed.   
  
Han nodded. The kid looked like he was losing his battle to stay awake anyway. "Rest easy, kid."  
  
Luke smiled and let his eyes drift shut.   
  
Han moved quietly to the door of the room, feeling more than a little bit protective of the kid, although he still wasn't sure why.  
  
"Thanks, Han," Luke's sleepy voice drifted toward him.  
  
Not sure what he was being thanked for, Han simply turned his head and replied, "You're welcome," before slipping out the door.  
  
And backing into the second person who was complicating his life.  
  
"Han?" the Princess asked in a stunned voice.  
  
"Your Highness," Han politely replied. Best to try to start off on the right foot this time.  
  
He stared at the diminutive princess as she vainly attempted to formulate a response to his unexpected presence in the medcenter. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but she looked even more worn and fatigued than she had earlier. He was sure her small emotional outburst earlier had something to do with it, but she was still trying to present the outward vision of a strong and capable leader. Glassy eyes and darkening patch of skin near the gash on her face which seemed to be blending into the dark circles above her pale cheeks seemed to contradict all her efforts. A frustrated scowl grew on her face as she continued to gaze at Han wearily, still unable to say anything. Feeling it best not to interrupt her search for words, he waited until she spoke.  
  
"What are you-" she began. "I mean, why are you-uh, that is . . .." She frustratedly pushed back an errant strand of hair before finally stammering, "How is he?"  
  
Han jerked a thumb behind him to indicate Luke's room. "Asleep right now. But he should be fine in a few days. Give it some time." He noted the almost miniscule slump of her shoulders in relief, and for the second time that day he worried that she was about to simply collapse in exhaustion. "You look like you could use some rest yourself, your Highness."  
  
Her response was as expected. Drawing herself up, she bit out, "I'm fine, Captain."  
  
Han sighed, his own frustrations and fatigue creeping back up on him. "You know, you're a real piece of work, your Worshipfulness!"  
  
"Me?" Leia demanded.  
  
"Yeah, you!" Han retorted. "You know, you break down earlier, you look practically dead on your feet, and when a guy conveys just a little bit of concern . . .."  
  
"Well, I didn't realize you were being concerned," the Princess shot back. "Normally you are just being condescending. Sorry if I misinterpreted the eloquent words of the marvelous Han Solo!"  
  
Resisting the urge to shoot another barb her way out of genuine regard for her fragile state, he simply replied, "Apology accepted, then, your Worship."  
  
Leia blew out an angry breath and put her hand to her forehead. "Why are you so difficult?"  
  
"Hey," Han countered, "you ain't exactly a stroll through a rose garden yourself, your Highnessness."  
  
"Yeah, well at least I'm someone you can count on when the chips are down, instead of threatening to blast off at every turn."  
  
Han smiled sarcastically. "I haven't left yet, have I?"  
  
She dropped her hand and glared. "What's keeping you?"  
  
"Your charming personality," he drawled.  
  
"Ugh," she groaned. "I don't have time for this."  
  
Han laughed bitterly. "Well, you sure as hell seem to make time every chance you get. Come on, admit it, you're going to miss arguing with me when I'm gone."  
"I don't know," Leia shot back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Leave and I'll send you my report!"  
  
Han shook his head. "You know, I was never very good at doing what people told me to."  
  
Leia continued to glare. "No kidding."  
  
With that, Han took a step closer to her and glared right back. He had two choices, as he saw it. Cut her down right then and there, or try to help her get past this cranky, bitter, frustrated rut she'd gotten herself into. The first seemed most enjoyable, with an immediate payoff and potentially dynamic results. In any other set of circumstances, it would be the only course of action the typical Han Solo would take. However, in his own current state of frustration and pent-up anxieties, the second option looked nearly as promising. Granted, the Princess could be a horrendous pill to swallow; but one had to admit that she was unquestionably beautiful. If he could help her through all this mess that she had gotten herself into, that would put him in prime position as far as she was concerned. So what if the kid had his eye on her? He wasn't going to go after Her Worshipfulness seriously. Just enough to cheer her up and to get him out of this strange alternate reality he had somehow found himself in and become the old Han Solo again.  
  
"You know what you need, Your Worship?" he asked, finally making up his mind.  
  
"Do tell," she countered flatly.  
  
He grabbed her good wrist and began pulling her along the corridor. "Come on, and I'll show ya'."  
  
Ignoring her shouts and her vain attempts to free her arm from his grasp, he headed toward the Falcon.  
  
*****************  
  
"I like what you've done to her."  
  
Han looked at the Princess coldly, trying to ignore her sarcastic remark about his ship, but losing his ability to do so. He still had her by the wrist and was dragging her toward the landing ramp, trying to avoid the dangling cables in the process.  
  
"Han, would you please let me go now?" she hollered icily. "I really don't see what you are-"  
  
  
Cutting her off, he put a finger to her lips. "Shhhh."  
  
The responding look she gave clearly conveyed the fact that she thought he was utterly insane. However, she didn't say another word as he continued to pull her into the Falcon.  
  
Han was certainly beginning to question his own sanity. It was just as well, for this had most definitely been the craziest day of his life. Tired after spending nine hours nursing a sick rebel, angry for getting into several arguments with his best friend and copilot, and frustrated after dealing with Her Royal Pain-in-the-Neck, he had just about reached his own breaking point. Moving solely on instinct and refusing to sort out the jumbled mass of confusing notions that was his brain at the moment, he headed for the galley. He reached into one of the recently restocked storage units and grabbed a bottle and two glasses by feel before heading over to the holochess table. With little ceremony, he pushed Leia into a seat.  
  
"Sit," he ordered, after seeing her shocked expression and her slight motion to get up.  
  
The Princess only stared at him in disbelief.  
  
Setting the two shot glasses on the table, he quickly uncapped the bottle and poured.  
  
The Princess took that moment to read the label. "Bethalian Whiskey?"  
  
Without a glance at her, he took up his glass. "Yup. Best in the galaxy."  
  
"Is this supposed to be some kind of Corellian seduction?" she intoned sarcastically. "Because I'm not impressed."  
  
Han met her fiery gaze with one of his own, and replied, "Nope. That's what the brandy is for." He winked, explaining, "Just thought I could use a drink." Then he raised his glass in a parody of a toast. "And you could use one yourself, Your Highness," he added before swallowing the contents of his glass and pouring himself another.  
  
The Princess just continued to stare. "You've got to be kidding, Solo."  
  
Taking another shot of whiskey, he asked, "Do I look like I'm kidding?"  
  
Instead of answering, the Princess looked down at her own glass of amber-colored liquid. To Han's utter amazement, she picked up the glass and shrugged her shoulders. Shifting her gaze to his own shocked stare, she toasted, "Cheers, then," and drank it off.  
  
Han laughed in total awe as she shuddered only briefly before setting the empty glass back down on the table. "Whoa, Your Worship! That's pretty impressive."  
  
Leia responded with a smug grin that impressed him even more. "Well, to be honest, Captain, I'm not overly fond of whiskey. I'm usually a wine-drinker, myself." She paused, helping herself to the bottle in order to refill her glass. "But, I'll be the first to admit that it's been a rather trying day."  
  
Han smiled, the warmth of the whiskey in his chest putting him a little more at ease. "I'll say."  
  
They each swallowed their drinks, and Han began to refill their glasses once more. They sat in silence, nursing their drinks for a while before he noticed that Leia was studying him.  
  
"What?"  
  
Leia favored him with a smile that was almost, but not quite, as big as the smiles she normally reserved for Luke. "Thank you," she said quietly.  
  
Han cocked his head, unable to resist the urge to push her buttons, just a little bit. "Is that all I get after all I've gone through today?"  
  
"Yes," laughed the young woman, obviously trying to fight the giddiness that was creeping up on her. "And don't push it, or I'll take even that small token back. Besides, didn't you say that it's the brandy that you use for your more romantic endeavors?"  
  
Making a mental note to offer liquor to Her Worshipfulness more often, Han leaned in. "I think I have some stashed in the aft storage units."  
  
Rolling her eyes, The Princess slapped her palm against his forehead and pushed him back. "Don't even try it, flyboy." Reaching for the glass once more, she emptied it for the third time.  
  
"So, where'd you learn to drink like that?" Han asked, more than a little curious. After all, this was the eighteen year-old Princess of Alderaan here, not some random female he'd met in a bar. He was a little taken aback.   
  
In response to his question, Leia's cheeks colored a bit, and she tried to hide her guilty laughter. "Slumber parties," she finally managed.  
  
"Slumber parties?"  
  
She nodded, her third shot visibly starting to take effect. Or was it only her second shot that was affecting her now? "Winter and I used to sneak into my father's cellar and do a little 'sampling' from time to time."  
  
Han shook his head reproachfully, the action making him a little dizzy after his fourth shot of whiskey. "And here I thought you were dignified."  
  
"I am dignified," Leia retorted, trying to appear as dignified as possible and not succeeding very well.  
  
"You're drunk."  
  
Leia nodded. "Well, that, too." Shaking her head, she added, "Boy, that stuff sure does work fast." She placed her elbows upon the table and leaned her chin on her fists, moving closer to Han as she did. "But that was your plan all along, wasn't it, Captain?"  
  
Han grinned as he stared at her. Even in her current tired and disheveled state, she was still beautiful. Her ease gave her a radiance that he found amazingly attractive. In a girlish sort of way, Han had to remind himself. This was Princess Leia Organa, after all! Seduction was definitely not in the picture right now. Especially not with her in this state. Sure, he'd taken advantage of intoxicated females before . . .and on occasion he'd been taken advantage of as well. But it certainly wasn't in the cards right now. He silently reprimanded himself for even allowing his mind to take that route. Of course, he wouldn't be Han Solo if his thoughts hadn't drifted that way. Her glazed brown eyes bored into him, searching for an answer, and he struggled to word his response appropriately.  
  
"Well, it wasn't to get you drunk," he explained, "but I did want to see you more relaxed. You were way too edgy back there."  
  
"I was not edgy!" she snapped.  
  
Han raised an eyebrow. "Really?"  
  
Frowning, she sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. Shaking her head, she murmured, "You wouldn't understand, Solo."  
  
He hadn't expected her to close off so suddenly. Han softened his expression as he moved closer to her. "Try me," he whispered.  
  
Instead of replying, she reached for her glass once again. But Han placed his hand in front of hers, pushing the whiskey and the glasses out of her reach. Defeated, she sank back and shook her head.  
  
"Come on," Han urged, suddenly anxious for her to open up to him, though he couldn't fathom why. "Talk to me."  
  
Again, she shook her head. "No, not now," she answered softly, struggling to stand. She wavered a bit and Han was immediately at her side to steady her.  
  
"Looks like you've had a bit too much to drink, Your Highness," he teased.  
  
"I'm fine," she protested angrily, trying to disengage from his supportive grasp while remaining upright at the same time. "I have work to do."  
  
"Not like this, you don't," Han remarked, refusing to let her go for fear she'd fall to the floor if he did.   
  
"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" she growled.  
  
"Quit what?" Han asked in confusion. "Now I'm sure you're drunk, 'cause you ain't makin' any sense."  
  
Leia spun around to face him unexpectedly, and he quickly readjusted his grip on her shoulders as she lost her balance. "I want you to quit trying to get inside my head, Solo! I mean, it's bad enough having Luke wondering if I'm okay all the time! The last thing I need is a mercenary smuggler who's planning to up and leave at the first available moment trying to ease his conscience by playing the sympathetic ear!"  
  
Han took a step back at her outburst while maintaining his hold on her. At a loss for words, he merely stared at the angry face of the young princess who'd been giggling only moments before. Well, you wanted her to open up, Solo, he told himself as he sought some response to her words.  
  
"I'm sorry," was all he could say. 


	8. Chapter 8

A Change of Plans: Chapter 8  
  
  
  
"Get clear, Wedge! You can't do any more good back there!" Luke's voice crackled through the comm.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Han glanced around to see that he was back aboard the Millennium Falcon, blasting away from Yavin and listening to the transmissions from the Rebel Squadrons on the Death Star's surface. He had his cargo of precious metals, and nothing was going to stop him from delivering them to Jabba the Hutt. Perhaps now he could get back into that slimy slug's good graces. He'd been in the hot seat since he'd had to drop that last shipment. This time, it would be smooth sailing for him and Chewie. He looked over toward his copilot's seat with a grin, only to find it empty.   
  
That was right. He'd left Chewie back on Yavin to help these stupid Rebels out in their pointless attack. He'd tried to convince him that it was never going to work. He'd tried to get Chewie to come with him, knowing only too well that the jungle moon was about to suffer the same fate as Alderaan. Stolen plans or no stolen plans, snub-fighters didn't stand a chance against that monstrosity. Hell, he'd been on board that thing along with the others. Why couldn't they see what he could?   
  
Instead, they had refused to open their eyes to the futility of this whole attack, and he had left.  
  
"Hurry, Luke, they're coming in much faster this time. I can't hold them!"  
  
"Artoo, try and increase the power!" Luke's voice sounded panicked.   
  
Han shook his head. "Well, I'd be panicked, too, kid! You're about to be shot down by Imps!"  
  
"Hurry up, Luke!"  
  
Han couldn't see what was going on down there, but he had a pretty good idea.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Static filled the headset where that other voice had once been. Sounded like Luke was the only one left. Poor kid, he didn't stand a chance.  
  
"His computer's off. Luke, you switched off your targeting computer. What's wrong?"  
  
Now what was the crazy kid up to?  
  
"Nothing. I'm all right."  
  
Han shuddered against the knowledge that this was a suicide mission. The kid was about to get himself killed, and everyone on that moon was going to go down with him.  
  
"I've lost Artoo!"  
  
Han shut his eyes, every fiber of his body suddenly aching with loss, as he knew that they were all as good as dead. Pain filled him, and he knew he couldn't let this happen! This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to let this happen! He had to do something!   
  
Opening his eyes, he seized the controls, preparing to go back into the fray. He had to save them before it was too late. Luke. Chewie. Leia. They were all going to die unless he rescued them. Glancing at the control panel in horror, he realized that it was completely frozen. The ship was headed out into space, and he couldn't turn around. He reached for the intercom, trying to shut if off so he wouldn't have to hear the inevitable. It, too, refused to budge.  
  
A scream filled his ears. Luke's scream. The kid was dead.  
  
"The Death Star has cleared the planet. The Death Star has cleared the planet."  
  
No. This wasn't supposed to happen. The kid was too young to die!   
  
The others!  
  
Suddenly he was watching the control room of the rebel base. He could see Chewie wrapping his protective arms around the tiny princess, her face etched with grief and terror. She knew it was over, as did the Wookie. No, not them! Not them! He couldn't be left alone! The viewscreen showed a discharge of energy from the space station a split second before the scene in front of him disintegrated in a grisly spectacle of fire.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Han jerked awake, gasping for breath as he tried desperately to orient himself to time and location while shaking off the aftereffects of the dream. Looking about, he realized he had fallen asleep in the cockpit of the Falcon. Blinking his eyes, he rubbed a hand across his face and was not surprised to find it drenched in a cold sweat. Nightmares were certainly not his thing, and this had been a horrible one. As he sat, trying to get his heartbeat back to normal, he wondered what had caused it. After all, why rewrite history in such a way that it became a moment of tragedy instead of one of triumph? And why make him the culprit?   
  
Was it some kind of sign? A message even?  
  
Han shook his head and mumbled to himself, "Don't go thinkin' like Luke, now."  
  
Running a hand through his damp hair, he rose and walked out of the cockpit. It had been over a day since he'd brought Her Worshipfulness out here, and he hadn't seen her since. Although, to be honest, he wasn't real keen on seeing her at the moment. He'd helped her back to her quarters and she had proceeded to shut the door in his face. Since then, he'd immersed himself in putting his ship back together and trying to forge some kind of working relationship with his still angry best friend. Chewie was keeping to himself much of the time, and Han was left alone to dwell on his own misfortunes.   
  
It was no wonder he was having nightmares. His whole life was a nightmare right now. He'd managed to alienate just about everyone in the course of two days. The only person who didn't hate him to some degree at this moment was Luke. And, last he'd heard, the kid was still fighting Corellian Influenza in the medcenter.   
  
Well, sighed Han to himself, maybe it was time for him to do some good for someone around here. After all, if he believed the whisperings he'd been picking up lately, they were heading for an evacuation of the base in a few days. Might as well try to be a help to somebody instead of the hindrance he'd somehow turned himself into lately. Throwing on a clean shirt, he headed over to the medical center to talk to the one person who knew about nightmares and was in no shape to kill him if he said the wrong thing.  
  
*****************  
  
Han entered the medcenter and paused before heading for Luke's room. Just what had he come down here for? He wasn't even sure of the shape Luke was in right now. Was he up to talking? Would he be whiny and cranky like he was on the Falcon? And why did he want to talk to the kid in the first place? He shook his head and leaned against the wall. When had life gotten so complicated? He pondered these things as he stared at the hallway to Luke's room. Figuring that the answers would probably make themselves known eventually-and at the most inopportune time, no doubt-he proceeded down the hall. As he neared the door, he noticed a dark-haired kid was just leaving. Pausing a moment to try to see who it was, Han grinned when the kid turned around and he was able to recognize him. Two smug Corellians in small corridor? What were the odds?  
  
"Captain Solo," Wedge said with a smile as soon as he spotted Han. "Didn't expect to see you here."  
  
"Just checking up on my cargo," Han replied with a gesture toward Luke's room.  
  
Wedge laughed. "Well, I've seen better, Captain."  
  
"Hey," Han countered with a wink, "I got 'im back here in one piece, didn't I?"  
  
"Barely," groaned the younger man. "We're gonna have to evac with one of our best pilots down, thanks to you."  
  
"Hey, it ain't my fault your guys never did their job in makin' sure this kid got all his shots." He paused. "So they're really going to evacuate the base?"  
  
Wedge nodded. "That's the word. The shield generator has gone faulty since the crash, and we don't know how long it will keep running. Blue squad picked up a fleet of Imps moving just outside the system, so it doesn't look good. With the generator acting up like it is, who knows what kinds of signals the Imps are picking up."  
  
Han frowned. "Doesn't sound good at all."  
  
"I'd say we'll be out of here in three days."  
  
The older Corellian whistled in amazement. "That soon, huh?"  
  
Wedge nodded again. "Expect a scramble once it's announced."  
  
"And the kid?" asked Han, indicating Luke once more.  
  
"He's out for a week, at best," replied Wedge.  
  
"A week?" Han couldn't believe that. "You're joking."  
  
Shaking his head, Wedge explained, "This is Corellian Influenza we're dealin' with here. And Corellian diseases are like Corellian drinks: they knock you off your feet for a while."  
  
"He's no better at all?"  
  
"Well, he's a lot better than he was when you first brought him in here, that's for sure," Wedge agreed. "But, then again, he was just this side of death when you brought him in, too."  
  
"He was still alive, though, and that's what matters," Han retorted.  
  
"Yeah, but we're still short a pilot," Wedge countered with a laugh. "Not unless you want to fill in for him."  
  
"In one of those X-wings of yours?" Han snorted. "Not on your life."  
  
"Too comfy with your ship, eh, Captain?"  
  
Han grinned. "Nah, I just don't trust one of yours."  
  
Laughing, Wedge clapped him on the back. "Well, see you around, Captain."  
  
Han nodded and headed for the door to Luke's room.  
  
He entered to find Luke resting limply on the bed, grumbling some form of complaint as a 4-1B droid took blood samples from his arm. Han grimaced as he noted that the kid certainly didn't look any better than he had the last time he'd been by. In fact, he looked slightly thinner and paler than he had the other day. The blue eyes that frowned up at the droid were dull and lifeless. The only thing that reassured him was the distinct whine that accompanied Luke's scratchy voice.  
  
"Ow. Is this really necessary?" the kid complained to the droid.  
  
"Yes, sir," the droid calmly replied, continuing its task.  
  
"Ugh," Luke groaned. "This whole situation is bad enough without you jabbing me with a needle every few hours."  
  
"Sir," the droid spoke, "we need to constantly monitor your white cell count, your enzymes, and . . .."  
  
"Yeah, I know," interrupted Luke weakly.   
  
"Not happy with the room service here, kid?" Han broke in.  
  
Luke turned his head toward Han's voice. A thin smile formed on his lips at his friend's humor.  
  
"I'm not sure I should criticize while he holds a needle in my arm," Luke replied.  
  
The droid lifted its metallic face toward the two men. "Wise decision, sir."  
  
Han stared dumbly at the droid for a moment, then laughed. "Since when did they program these things with a sense of humor?"  
  
Luke gave a wry grin. "Sadistic streak is more like it."  
  
"I am finished, sir," the 4-1B commented as it turned away and bustled out of the room with the blood samples.  
  
"Thank the Force," Luke sighed. He leaned back on the pillows, pulling his right arm back under the covers with a slight shiver.  
  
"Cold, kid?" Han asked with concern. The figure in the bed before him seemed fragile and almost translucent in his pallor. Hardly the energetic farm boy who'd run headlong into a prison corridor to rescue a princess.  
  
"Not bad," the kid replied with a slight shake of his head.  
  
Han studied him for a moment, noting that he still seemed to be trembling slightly and hugging his arms to his chest beneath the blankets that covered him. Reaching toward the foot of the bed, Han snatched the folded blanket that rested there and draped it over Luke's shivering form. Luke half-smiled, an expression that conveyed both gratefulness and embarrassment.   
  
"Just in case," Han remarked lightly, his voice sounding more carefree than he felt at the moment as he sat at the foot of the bed.   
  
"Thanks," Luke whispered. He lay quietly for a moment before he added, "I guess you were right."  
  
Han was puzzled. "About what?"  
  
"About me being sick," answered the kid with a weak smile. "I am."  
  
Han smiled at his slight joke. "You can say that again." He placed a hand on Luke's shoulder. "But couldn't you have come down with something a little less dramatic than Corellian Influenza?"  
  
"Leia joked that she was worried I'd come back from the trip with some of your worse Corellian traits," Luke replied. "They don't get much worse than this."  
  
"Boy, you said it, kid," Han remarked with a shake of his head, glancing down at the hand that rested on the kid's shoulder. Even through the blankets, it was too thin. "They feedin' you much in here?"  
  
Luke grimaced. "IV drips, mostly. The fever is still coming and going, and I'm having a hard time getting anything down and keeping it there." He took a deep breath, as his voice was getting noticeably weaker. "But they're pumping me with enough stuff to keep me going."  
  
Han nodded mutely. The kid was in bad shape, that was certain.   
  
Luke seemed to notice Han's concern. "But at least the fevers are lessening," he explained, apparently hoping to alleviate some of Han's worry. "And the periods in between are growing."  
  
Han rolled his eyes. Leave it to the kid to put his worry for others before himself. If anything, these last two months had shown him what a selfless person Luke truly was. And that was rare. At first, Han thought it was all an act, that this kid was too caring to be real. Once he realized that it wasn't an act, it became annoying to watch this kid put others before himself time and time again. He needed to be tougher than that to survive. How would he ever make it in this world without being just a little selfish?  
  
"You're hopeless, kid," was all he said.  
  
Luke started to laugh. His laugh turned to a weak cough, however, which he had to struggle to bring under control. Feeling momentarily helpless again, Han moved to try to assist him in some way, but Luke waved him off. After a few moments, he regained his voice. "So what does that make you, Han?" he asked in a whisper.  
  
"At least I know when to put myself first," Han countered.  
  
Luke smiled at him, a knowing glint the first sign of life in his tired blue eyes. "Well, then you haven't been doing a very good job of listening to yourself, have you?"  
  
Han gave a dry smirk. "You know, I came here to cheer you up, pal. Not to get picked on by a sick kid who would make me feel guilty if I did follow my gut instinct and retaliate."  
  
Luke gave a slight chuckle. "Retaliate away. I've got sadistic droids poking me, and Squadron pilots dropping off silly get-well gifts. Did you see the latest?" He reached over toward a small shelf by the bedside and pulled out a cloth doll, designed to look like a Red Squadron pilot. But with one slight modification. "Apparently somebody got their information wrong and drew measles spots all over it. The guys were in hysterics for who knows how long." He tossed the doll weakly to Han. "Believe me, I can handle any of your remarks."  
  
Han picked up the doll and couldn't help laughing as he stared at it. "This is pretty bad."  
  
"Tell me about it," Luke groaned.  
  
Han put the doll back on the shelf with a barely suppressed snicker and turned back to regard Luke. To Han's surprise, the kid was watching him intently. His eyes still looked tired, but they also looked almost worried. It was disconcerting.  
  
"What?"  
  
Luke frowned. "There's something really bothering you, isn't there?"  
  
Han sighed, working to convey more irritation than he felt. "Are you always this annoying, or only when fighting a serious illness?"  
  
Luke only shivered and pulled the covers up tighter around him, never taking his gaze off Han.  
  
Han looked away, shaking his head and rising to leave. "You need your sleep, kid."  
  
"Han," Luke's weak voice called. "You came here to talk to me because something is bothering you. What?"  
  
Han turned to glare at him. Was the kid reading his mind or something? "You know, it's really creepy when you do that, kid."  
  
Luke blinked at him for a moment, then rolled away onto his side with a tired sigh. "Fine," he muttered just audibly enough for Han to hear.  
  
Han stood staring at the back of the kid's head for a moment before anger caused him to sit down again. He wasn't going to be blown off by a third person! No way! Both Leia and Chewie had stormed off and given him the silent treatment. Was he going to allow a bed-ridden kid to do the same?  
  
"All right," he fumed as Luke turned his head and glanced back at him. "You wanna know what's bothering me? Make yourself comfortable, 'cause it's a long story." He tried to ignore Luke's smug expression as he searched for what it was that he actually wanted to say. His jumbled up mind latched onto the first idea that came to him.  
  
"You ever have nightmares?"  
  
Luke raised an eyebrow incredulously and stared at Han for a moment. "No, never," he remarked sarcastically.  
  
Han felt momentary irritation at Luke's reply, but he figured he'd deserved it. "Well, I usually don't, kid," he began explaining. "But just a little while ago, I woke up from one that really left me rattled."  
  
Luke rolled partially onto his back and stared up at him. "What was it?"  
  
It took a few moments before Han could find the words to describe the dream. "Well, kid, I was back on board the Falcon during the attack on the Death Star. Only Chewie had stayed back on Yavin with Leia, and I never turned back around to shoot that TIE off your back in the trench. You got shot down, and then I watched as everyone on Yavin blew up, including Leia and Chewie." He paused. "And then I was all alone."  
  
Luke was silent for a moment before he said softly, "You know, two months ago, I would have said that was a Han Solo fantasy, not a Han Solo nightmare."  
  
Han narrowed his eyes at Luke. "Not cute, kid."  
  
The kid smiled. "I wasn't trying to be funny."  
  
"Then what?" Han snapped with growing irritation.  
  
"Maybe," Luke began, keeping a steady eye on Han, "the dream was a way of telling you that you're not quite the same Han Solo that you were two months ago. That maybe you don't really want to be totally alone anymore."  
  
Han put forward his best sabacc face, trying not to let Luke see the emotions going through his mind. Disbelief at the kid's words was being pushed aside by the nagging sense he'd had since returning from Ryall that things really were changing. But he wasn't ready to admit that. Not yet. "Is that what you think, Junior?" Han finally replied, harsh tones forged by his inner struggle embedded in his voice.  
  
Luke gave his best shrug and a weak smile, albeit one completely devoid of any humor. "I'm only a kid from a backwater planet. What does it matter what I think?" Again, he rolled over onto his side, leaving Han to stare at the back of his head.  
  
Han didn't stare for very long. Glancing down at the polished duracrete floor, he slowly processed Luke's words. What did it matter what the kid thought? It was Han's dream for cryin' out loud. The only person who could really hope to find an explanation for it would be himself. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more Luke's explanation seemed the most probable. Hell, he'd put himself heart and soul into repairing the Falcon all day yesterday because it took the edge off the loneliness. Chewie wasn't talking to him, and Leia wouldn't look at him. And now he was sitting in an uncomfortably sterile medcenter room to talk to the one person who he knew would be his only captive audience. He looked back up at Luke's tousled hair. For a dumb kid from a backwater planet, he sure did have a lot of insight.  
  
"For what it's worth," Han sighed quietly, "it matters, kid."  
  
Luke didn't turn back, but he shifted slightly. His muffled and hoarse voice spoke a few seconds later, "You know, Leia's feeling really bad about the whole thing between you two."  
  
That bit of news was unexpected. "She is?"  
  
There was a slight movement that Han interpreted as Luke's nod. "She said so yesterday."  
  
Han continued to stare at the back of Luke's head, trying to decide what to make of this. Did that mean she was sorry about what she'd said, or was she upset at what he'd done? After all, he had gotten her drunk. But it was for a good cause. It managed to cheer her up for a short while, anyway. "Did she say anything else?" he asked, tentatively.  
  
"No," Luke replied a moment before he seemed to tremble slightly.  
  
Han immediately leaned toward him in concern. "You okay, kid?"  
  
A weak cough answered him as Luke began to shiver in earnest under the covers. Han placed an uncertain hand on the kid's shoulder and could feel the slight quaking. He also felt the warmth that was beginning to radiate from it.  
"Hey, kid," Han said worriedly, "you want me to get the droid or somethin'? Looks like the fever 's kickin' back in."  
  
Luke shook his head slightly. "It's not bad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Han removed his hand from the kid's shoulder, but continued to look at him doubtfully as Luke drew his knees toward his chest in obvious discomfort.  
  
"You know," Luke began, so quietly that Han almost missed his words, "at least your dreams aren't real."  
  
Han straightened in confusion. What was he talking about? "What do you mean?"  
  
The figure in the bed hunched his shoulders and trembled before answering. "Imagine having to relive the worst moment of your life in your dreams each and every night."  
  
Han stared at him. He had, in fact, done that very thing. A long time ago. He hadn't had those nightmares for years. But he remembered them distinctly, and the feelings they produced. "I've been there, kid."  
  
"I don't like going to sleep anymore," Luke whispered, his voice breaking, though Han couldn't tell if it was from emotion or illness.  
  
"What do you see in your dreams?" Han asked cautiously.  
  
In response, Luke drew his knees up closer to his chest. "I watch the stormtroopers raid the farm. I see them kill my family. And there's nothing I can do to stop them."  
  
Han stared at the kid. He knew Luke had lost everything and everyone before leaving Tatooine, but the details were sketchy. And he'd never thought to ask the kid or Kenobi about it. "Where you there, kid?"  
  
A slight movement suggested the shaking of a head. "No," Luke replied, his voice even more hoarse and cracked than before. "I found them. Or what was left of them. I wasn't home when it happened. Ben and I had learned about Artoo, but I realized that my family was in danger too late. By the time I got to the farm, it had been destroyed. Gutted. And they were . . ." His voice trailed off.  
  
Han looked down at his balled fists, not realizing he had been clenching his hands as Luke spoke. He knew only too well the violence of the Empire. "I'm sorry kid."  
  
Luke laughed weakly then, a sound Han was far from expecting at that moment. When the kid spoke, it was with false poise. "Well, I wouldn't be a rebel if it hadn't happened. The story seems to be a familiar one among the ranks here, wouldn't you say?" He paused, losing the fight to sound untroubled. "So why am I having such a hard time dealing with it?"  
  
Han glanced back at Luke. He knew exactly what the kid was going through. "Because it's your loss, kid. Yours and yours alone. Knowing that other guys have experienced the same thing doesn't make it any less yours. Or less painful. Believe me, I've been through it, kid, and I know." He stopped for a moment. "People just deal with it in different ways. Some cry, some fight, some get drunk and try to drown it. Some talk about it until the pain goes away. And others push it to the backs of their minds and pretend it isn't there. Like you, like the Princess. Like I used to. And then when you're asleep and your guard is down, the pain creeps back on you. 'Cause it ain't gonna just go away until it's good and ready, no matter how far back you try to push it or how deep down you try to bury it."  
  
Han stopped and looked at the kid, wondering what effect his words would have. He hoped it was good, because he didn't know what else to say. He'd said it all. In fact, it was the very thing he wanted to tell Her Worship yesterday, before she'd slammed the door in his face. He'd hoped she'd be able to deal with her pain and her loss and stop running around like a demented droid on autopilot, hoping to fix each and every little thing, whether it was in her power or not. She was too young and had too much life in her to wear it out that way. And he was pretty sure she was having nightmares, too.  
  
Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the increased trembling in Luke's shoulders. Alarmed, he grabbed his shoulder again. "You okay, kid?"  
  
In response, Luke weakly reached out a hand and brushed Han's hand away before drawing the covers up tightly around his face. "I'm fine," he croaked.  
  
Growing more worried, Han shot back, "Kid, you're not fine. Look at you. You're shaking."  
  
"Han, it's nothing." The kid's voice was sounding worse, and Han was really starting to get concerned.  
  
"Then, look at me, Luke."  
  
When Luke didn't respond, Han stood and headed toward the door. "I'm grabbin' that droid."  
  
"Han, don't," Luke cried weakly as he rolled back over onto his back.   
  
Han turned and stared at him in disbelief. What he saw had a slight smile tugging at his lips, even though he was trying desperately to hide it to ease the kid's embarrassment. The kid's eyes were red and puffy, with a trail of tears that ran across the bridge of his nose and down his right cheek. Combined with his now reddening nose set in the middle of his pale face, the effect was ghastly. Han glanced downward at his feet guiltily, still fighting the perverse urge to laugh. The last thing he'd intended to do was to make the kid cry.  
  
Luke sniffled, rubbing a pale hand across his face to remove the residual dampness from the tears. "Don't laugh, Han."  
  
Not trusting himself to speak, Han merely shook his head.  
  
Luke was quick to try and explain himself. "Han, it isn't . . .. I mean, I don't usually . . .it's the fever that's . . ."He sighed, bringing both hands up to his temples. "Oh Force! People from Tatooine don't cry!"  
  
Han merely raised an eyebrow.   
  
"I don't cry," he added as emphatically as he could.  
  
Han tried to bite his lip, but it was no use. His lips curved upward and it was all he could do not to laugh at the poor kid. He immediately saw Luke's irritation and quickly moved back to his side to ease the situation a little. "Hey, it's okay, kid. I understand."  
  
Luke didn't look convinced.  
  
Han sat back down on the edge of the bed and patted Luke's arm. "You're sick," he said by means of excuse, suddenly noting the increase in temperature that seemed to be emanating from Luke's weary form. "And you're hot."  
  
Luke grinned wryly at him, his self-consciousness replaced by a glint of humor. "Thanks Solo, but you're not my type."  
  
Han shook his head with a smirk. "Tryin' to be funny, Junior?" He stood, noting the increase in Luke's pallor in spite of his mirth. "But seriously, that fever's getting pretty high."  
  
Luke waved him off. "It'll be fine. I'll just sleep it off." Even as he spoke, it was clear to Han that the kid was practically kicking him out. Han briefly wondered why. Until Luke spoke again. "Go make your peace with the Princess, Han."  
  
Han laughed at that remark.  
  
"You two need to start getting along," Luke explained. "And I still think that she needs you."  
  
Han threw a questioning glance at the kid, but Luke merely shut his eyes and drew the blankets up to his chin. Slightly confused, but unwilling to say another word, Han nodded silently and turned toward the door.  
  
"Just watch you don't get too close while I'm out of it," he heard Luke's voice murmur light-heartedly behind him.  
  
Han turned, about to make a remark about the chances of a princess and a farm boy being no better than a princess and a smuggler, when he noted that Luke seemed to have dropped off to sleep at that very moment. A slight snore could be heard from the bed, and Han chuckled.  
  
"Pleasant dreams, kid," he whispered, and stepped out the door. 


	9. Chapter 9

A Change of Plans: Chapter 9  
  
  
Trying desperately to silence the nagging voice in the back of his brain, Han proceeded to the command center as quickly as he could. The faster he moved, the earlier he would arrive and the less time he would have to change his mind. He knew he was crazy. Had to be. This idea of his was absolutely the most insane thing he'd ever thought to do, and he'd done some crazy things in his life. Strangely, though, the idea felt right. It had come to him just as he left Luke's room in the medcenter, and he hadn't given himself a chance to really talk himself out of it. He knew he just had to do it. If only the little voice in his head would shut up and quit telling him that he was as mad as he felt.  
  
He rounded a corner and entered the command center. He froze. He really was insane. He didn't even know how to word this crazy idea of his. The Princess and the General would never buy it.  
  
Then he saw her. She was standing at one of the consoles and had looked up as soon as he had walked into the room. Her long brown hair had been neatly braided into two twists that wrapped themselves around each other at the base of her head and then trailed down her back. Her arm was still in a sling, but most of the bruises had faded, and the cut on her face was beginning to heal nicely. It probably wouldn't even leave a scar.  
  
He mentally kicked himself. Now was not the time to be analyzing Her Worshipfulness. He had a job to do. But at least she was watching.   
  
He scanned the room for General Rieekan. It didn't take long to spot the middle-aged man giving orders to a young Rebel who abruptly left as Solo approached. Rieekan's blue eyes quickly took in Han's apparent desire to speak with him.  
  
"Yes, Captain Solo?"  
  
Han cleared his throat. He'd managed to annoy the General just a few days ago, and he hoped the man was patient and understanding enough to listen to what he had to say. "Sir," Han began, "I'd like to speak with you about a plan for the evacuation of the base."  
  
Rieekan smiled a moment. "That's the trouble with running a Rebel military. Things are never kept secret. So you know about the evacuation?"  
  
Han nodded, surprised at the General's pleasant demeanor.  
  
"Well, then, let's hear your plan, Captain."  
  
Han took a deep breath. "It's actually very simple, really," he said, trying to put the same self-confident tone into his voice that he used when speaking with Jabba and his thugs. "If there are Imps in the area, and our shields aren't fully functional, then we're sitting ducks while we prepare to evacuate, and we're a huge moving target once we do. Remember what happened when we evacuated Yavin?"  
  
That had been a battle in and of itself. Several fighters were lost in the escape and a cruiser full of supplies was destroyed. They'd had to make several hyperspace jumps in succession to get the Imperial Fleet off of their tails, and they'd had to send a few squadrons on decoy jumps to try to confuse them. All in all, it had been quite a mess.  
  
"So then what do you suggest?" Rieekan asked, eyebrows arched.  
  
"We distract the Imps now," Han replied. "I'll lead a squad out to stage a few skirmishes, attract their attention and lead them away from the system. Then we'll send out phony reconn ships to scout out to remote planets we have no interest in, but which are near areas of known Imperial activity. Once the Imps are thoroughly confused, we rendezvous at a set location and proceed from there to the new base . . . which is supposed to be, as I believe, on Karra." Han had picked this little bit of information up from Wedge, who knew some of the pilots who had recently hauled supplies out to that planet a week ago.  
  
Rieekan studied him carefully a moment before he said, "You seem to be very well informed, Captain. And your plan is not a bad one. In fact, we've been tossing about several ideas very similar to yours for the past few hours."  
  
Han felt disheartened, deflated, and uncomfortable. Her Worshipfulness was watching him, and here he had presented a "novel" idea that had already been conceived in her presence by the other more knowledgeable rebel leaders.  
  
"However," Rieekan went on, "seeing as you seem to be eager to assist in a decoy mission, perhaps you can participate in the modified version of your plan. You see," he turned to one of the consoles and pulled up what looked like specs on a new construct, "the disk that you and Commander Skywalker brought back contains some very valuable information. Information that's also quite alarming. Come, take a look." He stepped aside to allow Han a better view of the data.  
  
Han moved closer and studied the screen. "It looks like some kind of Star Destroyer."  
  
"Yes, but look at the dimensions," Rieekan suggested.  
  
Han did as instructed and paled at what he saw. "This can't be right," he breathed. It would have to be nearly five times the size of a standard Star Destroyer.  
  
"Oh, it is," Rieekan assured him. "Our source has seen it, and says it will be completed within the next two months."  
  
Han looked up at him. "So what does this have to do with the evacuation of the base?"  
  
"One word, Captain," Rieekan said conspiratorially. "Sabotage. What better distraction can we provide than to send a team in to sabotage the construction of the Empire's newest weapon?"  
  
"You're talkin' suicide, General," Han said quietly.  
  
A female voice suddenly entered the conversation. "I seem to recall you voicing the same opinion about the attack on the Death Star, Captain."  
  
Han turned to see the Princess staring at him with a daring gleam in her eye. "Yeah, well, in case you hadn't noticed, Your Worship, the kid who pulled that little stunt off is in the medcenter."  
  
"If I may make a small correction," interrupted Rieekan, "you were rather instrumental in that attack as well."  
  
"I shot one fighter, General," Han countered. "Just enough to give the kid a clear shot."  
  
Rieekan seemed about to offer another argument, when the Princess interceded. "Don't bother, General. He's not interested in truly helping us. He's only in it for the money."  
  
Han glared at her, and she met his stare with venom enough to match his. However, he was too enraged to notice. Suddenly he didn't care who else was in the room. Enough was enough. "Pardon me, Your Highnessness, but didn't I just come in here to volunteer lead the Imperials on a wild goose chase to get them off your back so you could fly off this rock to safety? Didn't I just come in here to stick my own neck out there to save your royal behind and everyone else in this rebellion? You're really somethin', you know that, your Worship? You need to get your head out of . . .. wherever it is you've stuck it," he watched a flash of crimson on her cheeks at his modified insult, "and take a look around at what's really happening in front of your eyes! I try to talk to ya', you run away. I try to help ya', and I get a door slammed in my face! Well, I'll tell you what, Your Worshipfulness; until you figure out what's really got your back up, I'm gonna stay well out of your way! 'Cause I'm tired of being assaulted by your screwed up view of reality! Let Luke deal with you from now on!" He was about to storm out of the room when he remembered his purpose for coming to the command center. He turned his gaze to General Rieekan. "General, I may not be your agent for the sabotage deal, but I'm here to let you know that me an' the Falcon are here for ya'. Whatever you decide to do is fine by me." He shot a final glance at the Princess before he added, "As long as you can send me as far away from Her Highnessness as possible!"  
  
With barely contained rage, he turned on his heal and left the room, for once leaving a stunned Princess behind.  
  
************  
  
While the final plans for the evacuation of Krall were underway, Han was avoiding all contact with the Princess. Chewie had been quick to point out the irony of the situation, much to Han's chagrin. After all, Han had sworn up and down that he was ditching the Rebellion at the first possible chance; but now that he had an easy out, he was staying on to help them in a risky operation. Even Luke had laughed at the turn of events.  
  
"So what excuse are you going to give now?" he asked with a grin when Han stopped by the medcenter to chat.  
  
Glumly slumped in a chair, Han muttered, "Temporary insanity." He must be insane to have volunteered for this plan. Heck, he'd even agreed to fly in one of those blasted X-wings, much to everyone's amusement. As a result, he'd spent the past two hours flying sims in order to get used to the ship's handling. Tired, cranky, and seething with frustration, he'd initially gone to the Falcon to talk to Chewie. The Wookie had only managed to make him feel worse by rubbing in the fact that while Han was out there in a dinky X-wing, he'd be in the Falcon helping to ferry out supplies and people. Apparently, his co-pilot could carry a grudge for quite a while and was making Han pay dearly for the past few days. So now he was left with only Luke to talk to; and judging from the amused look on the kid's face, he wasn't going to be any more supportive than anyone else was.  
  
"Temporary?" Luke teased.   
  
Han gave him a tired glare. "You want a relapse, kid?" he threatened.  
Luke bit his lip to suppress a chuckle and shook his head. Han had noted upon entering the room that the kid had finally started to improve in the past twenty-four hours. Although still pale, he was sitting up in bed, and the life had returned to his eyes. Unfortunately for Han, his voice had also returned.  
  
"I just want to know what possessed you to take part in this whole plan," Luke said, trying to sound as serious as possible. Han still heard the unmistakable sound of mirth in his voice, however.  
  
"You don't let up, do ya', kid?" Han groaned.  
  
Luke cocked his head to the side, tauntingly. "Come on," he crowed. "You've always said you were only in this for the money. How does this qualify?"  
  
Han narrowed his eyes and leaned in. "By keepin' you guys alive, I can continue to collect," he said. He winked and added, "Get the picture?"  
  
Luke shook his head. "You can't fool me, Solo. You're just a softie, and I know it."  
  
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, kid," Han countered, although not as sharply as he would have expected to. Apparently, he was getting used to the accusation. Hadn't he even accused himself of being too soft?  
  
"So when does this whole plan go into effect?" Luke asked eagerly.  
  
"Tomorrow," Han replied.  
  
"Tomorrow?" Luke asked in disbelief. Han thought he sensed disappointment there as well.  
  
"Yeah, kid," he answered. "Tomorrow. That's why I've been flying sims all afternoon. Those X-wings are absolutely awful."  
  
Luke scowled. "I like them. And I'm good in 'em. So quit complaining. Especially since you're the one who gets to fly in this crazy set-up while I sit here recuperating."  
  
"Consider yourself lucky," Han countered. He knew the thrill of a fight better than anyone did, but this plan was so half-baked he couldn't understand Luke's disappointment.  
  
"Well, I'll tell you this much," the kid was saying. "There is no way I'm being flown out of here on a medical frigate!"  
  
"Kid, I don't think you have much of a choice."  
  
"Who knows," he shot back. "I'm recovering a lot faster than they expected. I may be a lot better by tomorrow."  
  
Han laughed to dismiss Luke's idea, even as he had to admit to himself that the kid might actually be right. His recovery had baffled the medical staff and had defied all common sense. Granted, the kid was still sick, but the improvements had had made over the past day had been remarkable. And everyone had been at a loss to explain how he had done it. Of course, Han wouldn't dare to mention any of this to the kid. No sense getting his hopes up for flying tomorrow. More than likely, the kid would be flown out. Han actually felt sorry for the medical staff that would have to deal with him when that happened.  
  
"Well, kid," he said, changing the subject and preparing to excuse himself, "I've got to go speak to the brass about a bunch of mumbo-jumbo while somehow avoiding her Worshipfulness."  
  
"You two are still at it?" Luke asked in disbelief.  
  
Han scowled. "Look, kid, the woman is absolutely impossible. I tried makin' nice, and she was . . . well, let's just say she was too awful for words."  
  
Luke sighed. "Boy, it must have been bad if you're mincing words around me."  
  
"It was, trust me." Han continued to frown at the thought of yesterday's meeting. He still couldn't understand that woman. And he was through with trying. As far as he was concerned, she was just an obnoxious noise in the background to be tuned out while he did his job.  
  
"I still think you guys can work it out," the kid said hopefully.  
  
"Well, you keep thinkin' that," Han snapped, "but I ain't recommendin' keepin' your hopes up at all."  
  
Luke shrugged. "Well, get going, since it's obvious you're trying to get out of here."  
  
"Sure thing, kid," Han replied with a smile. He couldn't get over how the kid always managed to remain perfectly balanced between annoying and likeable. And now that he was getting better, he seemed to be more like his normal self. Moving toward the door, he added, "You just get well, ya' here me?"  
  
"I hear you, Han," Luke laughed.   
  
Han laughed in return, but the laugh died on his lips the moment he opened the door and saw who was standing on the other side. 


	10. Chapter 10

A Change of Plans: Chapter 10 (Revised)

By KnightMara

A/N: Sorry, but I haven't been on FF.N for a LONG while, and I had not realized that there was a hiccup in the posting of Chapter 10. For all of you who were left in the lurch, I am profoundly sorry! I had no idea. So here is the corrected version of Chapter 10 for your reading pleasure. I hope you can enjoy it and forgive me.

Han had the momentary pleasure of seeing the Princess of Alderaan speechless. It was a priceless sight that he wouldn't have missed for the galaxy. Of course, he knew it was just a fleeting experience, and he quickly brushed past her before the onslaught came.

He hesitated a moment too long. He was almost to the medcenter exit when she called, "Han!"

Han paused, as though jerked backward by an invisible tether. Wait, a second! Had she just called him by his name? He could count the number of times she had done that on one hand, and usually it was just a slip or an exasperated plea. Which of these did this qualify as?

He stopped but did not turn around. "Yes, Your Highnessness."

There was a long moment of silence during which neither of them spoke. Han waited, staring at the exit, wishing he could just walk through those doors and out of this topsy-turvy world he'd found himself in. Behind him were the Princess and the kid. Before him were Chewie and the Falcon. And, he had to admit to himself, a bunch of crazy kids who wanted him to fly with them. He glanced down, shaking his head at his own mental chaos. He hadn't felt this much weight on his shoulders in a very long time. He'd forgotten how it felt.

It was getting to be too much. "Well," he began, breaking the silence, "I'll let you get on with seeing Luke." He stepped toward the door.

"I didn't come here to see Luke!" she cried, bringing him to a jarring halt mid-step. "I came here to see you."

Han craned his neck around and stared at her in disbelief. Did she really expect him to buy that one?

She sighed, "They told me you were here. Well, actually, Chewie told me."

"Since when do you speak Wookie?" Han snapped, turning his full body to face her.

"Okay, fine," she admitted, obviously reaching the limits of her own patience as well. "He gestured and growled and got frustrated trying to explain, and eventually I figured it out."

Han continued to stare at her. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a nod of understanding, or a reply of words. No, she had brushed him and his efforts off as easily as so much dust. Whatever she had to say, he was going to make it as difficult for her as possible. It was hard not to smile at the cracks that were forming in her perfect diplomatic façade.

"I came here to apologize," she finally said.

Well, this was better than he thought. Again, he wordlessly watched her, waiting for her to continue.

"I shouldn't have acted the way I did," she continued, "and I'm sorry for misjudging you and your intentions." She stopped and waited for his reply.

He was torn between wanting to acknowledge her apology and wanting to see her squirm a little longer. As he stared at her, it was clear that she was feeling some definite guilt over what she had done. That fact pleased him at the same time it made him want to forgive her for her actions. After all, she had a right to feel guilty. She had been out of line in there, and he had wound up making a fool of himself because she had pushed his very last buttons. But now what?

The prolonged silence after her apology was enough for the Princess. "Don't you have anything to say?" she cried.

Han took a step toward her. "What do you want me to say? That I accept your apology, that all is right with the universe?" He shook his head. "No, because it isn't. You don't get it, do you? Because you don't get me. You can't place me under a neatly crafted label because I don't fit into any of your categories. You said yourself that there was more to me than money, and you were right. But you just can't figure out what that means. I've got to drop everything and join this little rebellion of yours, take an official rank, and trade in my ship for an X-wing before you'll trust me and believe me when I say I'm not going anywhere. But I ain't Luke! I'm not about to give up a life that I can still live in order to join the Alliance! That's not me!"

"Then what are you?" Leia shouted.

"I'm a guy who's changed more than he expected to in the past two months," he shot back angrily. "More than he wanted to, to tell ya' the truth!"

Leia crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And how have you changed?"

"Because two months ago there were only three things in my life that mattered to me," he replied, taking another step closer to her. "Myself, my first mate, and my ship. That's all."

To her credit, Leia stood her ground, looking up at him as he moved even closer. "And how has that changed?"

Han shook his head. "You just don't get it! If it ain't a cause, you can't figure out what is so important. Well, I'll tell you one thing: I didn't turn the Falcon around and come flyin' back toward that Death Star for a cause! And you were right that I didn't do it for money, either! I did it because a dumb kid was about to get himself shot and a princess who can be as difficult as she is beautiful was going to blow up with a bunch of other people who didn't deserve to die! That's why! Not for the Rebellion, not for some ridiculous ideal you think I should be fighting for! No, I did it for a couple of people who had managed to become somewhat likeable under bizarre circumstances! I did it for you!"

Once again, Leia was speechless. And Han was glad, afraid of what she'd say in response to what he'd just said. What had he just said? Where had all that come from? Where was his selfish side?

"And for myself," he added, defensively. "'Cause I couldn't live with myself if I'd let you and the kid die that day."

At that, Leia's pale shocked face softened with something resembling a smile. Puzzled by her expression, Han decided he'd said enough and should wait for her response. She looked like she was going to say something anyway.

He was right, although it took her a few moments to formulate the words. They were not what he expected.

"Well, I guess then I owe Luke an apology."

Han didn't quite know what to make of her words. "Huh?"

She shrugged. "Well, he said you were a softie at heart, but I told him he was a dumb farmer who didn't know what he was talking about. Guess I was wrong."

Han immediately went on the defensive, although most of his energy had already been spent on his earlier declarations. "Hey, I'm no softie!"

Leia arched her brows slyly. "Beautiful, huh?"

Han only stared, stunned at her suddenly playful attitude. He had called her that, hadn't he? Of course, he'd called her difficult as well. Which, judging from the look on her face, she was very well aware of. He'd knocked her down a peg, as she had deserved, and she'd taken it like a princess. Looking into her big brown eyes, he was aware of the fact that she knew she had been wrong, and that she now understood things a little better. Was this, then, her way of trying to mend things between them? If so, he liked her style.

At Han's lack of response, Leia tilted her head. "Or was that just to soften the blow?"

Han favored her with a lopsided grin. "Well, you know me, always the gentleman."

Leia grinned at that.

"Although Luke thinks you're absolutely gorgeous, so who knows?" he continued, teasingly.

"Well, then I shouldn't be talking to you," she remarked with a laugh. "I should be in there talking to him, now, shouldn't I?"

Han gave a careless shrug, stepping a little bit closer to her. He had to admit that the kid had been right. She was beautiful. Especially from this distance. "Well, I think he said something about trying to get some sleep," he lied, "so I'm not sure if you should really bother him right now."

"Oh, really?" Leia laughed. But she didn't look away self-consciously or shyly. Instead, her brown eyes held his own as she took her first step toward him.

"Hey," Han said, trying to appear serious, even as his heart was beating wildly in his chest. "I'm just lookin' out for the kid."

"Sure you are," a voice from behind Leia called.

Han quickly looked over her shoulder just as the princess spun around to see who had spoken. An amused Luke Skywalker sat in a chair watching them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Leia asked in disbelief.

"Keeping an eye on you two," the kid replied. "After I heard all that racket, I wanted to make sure you two didn't kill each other."

Han narrowed his eyes at the kid, although Luke appeared oblivious. He was sure the kid had other motives. Motives which involved sending a potential moment to a grinding halt. "Yeah, yeah, well we appreciate your concern," he said. "Now get back in bed before I have to call Chewie to see to it that you stay there."

Luke raised his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm going. Go back to your reconciliation. Don't let me get in the way."

Han grinned darkly at him as Luke made his way shakily back to his room. He noticed that Leia was watching the kid with concern, and Han sighed. Well, so much for the possible little scenarios that had rushed fleetingly through his mind as her body had moved closer to his. With a grimace she couldn't see, Han forced himself to take the gentleman's stand. "Well, maybe you should see to it that he's okay," he said. "I've got to talk to some of the pilots, anyway."

Leia looked back at him and smiled sheepishly. "Of course, Captain."

It was agony to pull himself away, but he somehow managed. "See you around, Princess."

He turned and left the medcenter. He chuckled to himself as he realized that he was voluntarily walking away from a beautiful woman and toward an Incom T-65 X-wing starfighter. Chewie was certainly going to get a howl out of this. Still laughing, he shook his head at the course his life appeared to be taking. At this moment in time, he wasn't sure where his new course would take him, or what it would eventually cost him. But he knew one thing for sure.

None of this was ever in any of his plans.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue: One month later . . ..

"Okay, Han! All charges are ready to go! Let's get out of here!"

At the sound of the kid's breathless voice and footfalls on the deck as he raced onboard the Falcon, Han glanced over to Chewie and smiled. "Punch it, Chewie."

Chewie howled his affirmative, and the Falcon took off, soaring away from the Imperial shipyard at top speed.

"I'm in," Luke's voice crackled over the comm from the topside gun turret.

"And you, Princess?" Han asked.

"Armed and ready," her voice called back from her position in the lower turret.

Han grinned. One month ago he'd been ready to leave. Now the four of them were working like a well-oiled machine. Who would have guessed they'd be sent as a team to destroy the Imperial fleet's replacement ships? If only he'd volunteered for the Super Star Destroyer mission. Then, maybe, they would have succeeded. But, that was the past. As for the present—

"Ready to blow in ten seconds," Luke's voice called.

"And here come the TIEs now," Leia added.

Han checked his scopes and his readouts. "Preparing for the hyperspace jump, once that thing goes."

A blast hit the shields and the ship rocked with the impact. Han looked at Chewie who howled back that the shield was still holding strong.

"Good," he replied, "but don't let anymore hit us."

Leia's voice filled the comm. "Sorry, Captain." A moment later she added, "But he won't be shooting anyone else."

"And five," Luke started to count, "four…three… two… one… Whoa!"

"I think you did it, Luke!" Leia shouted.

Han glanced back down at his readouts. "Great. Now, just hold them off for a few more seconds!"

"Got it, Han," Luke called back. "One coming up on you, Leia!"

"I see him!"

"I think they're a little angry!"

Han grinned. "Well, no kidding! You just blew up their ships, Luke! I'd be kinda' upset myself."

"Are we ready to go yet, Han?" Leia asked.

Han turned to his first mate. "How're we lookin', Chewie?"

Chewie howled back.

"Okay, kids," Han called. "Hang on to something!"

Han watched the stars turn to starlines as the ship entered hyperspace, then he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew! We did it!"

Han laughed at Luke's ecstatic shout of triumph. The kid was never one to hold anything back.

"One more success," Leia called, much more calmly than the kid did.

Leaning back in his chair, Han remarked, "Well, kid, I gotta' hand it to ya'. You sure are getting good at blowin' stuff up!"

He heard Luke's gleeful laugh through the comm. "Yeah, but only with you around, Han."

"He's got a point," Leia agreed.

"Just don't stick me in one of those X-wings again!" Han shook his head. "Well, get back up here and we'll celebrate."

"Corellian?" Luke asked.

"Only the best," Han replied with a wink toward Chewie.

The Wookie looked over at Han and laughed, saying something about Han getting too used to this. Han stared back at him, wordlessly agreeing. So what if he was? Sure, he hadn't planned on any of this three months ago. Sure he'd become attached to the kid and the Princess who were on their way to the cockpit right at this very moment. And right now, he didn't care. He was making trouble for the Empire, and he was enjoying it. And for the moment that was all that mattered!

Craning his neck, he watched as a beaming Luke Skywalker strode into the cockpit followed by a flush-faced and radiant-looking Leia Organa. As she entered, she favored him with a smile that made her look even more beautiful and radiant.

Okay, maybe wreaking Rebel havoc wasn't all that mattered, he conceded. Maybe there were other, more subtle things in the works. Plans change, after all.


End file.
